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"THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH" 


OK  GAUF.  LSHIARY.  LOS  ANGELIB 


"  The  Fair  Moon 
of  Bath" 

By 
ELIZABETH  ELLIS 

Author  of 
"Barbara  Winslow,  Rebel " 


FRONTISPIECE 
BY  JOHN   RAE 


"  The  precious  things  put  forth 
by  the  Moon" 


COPYRIGHT,  1907 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPAHY 

Published  February,  1908 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  MIDSUMMER  MOON  1 

II  NOON-DAY  13 

III  "THE  TOAST"  27 

IV  "ON  GUARD"  38 
V  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  COIFFEUSE  52 

VI  "MOONLIGHT"  64 

VII  "A  SIGH  IN  THE  DARK"  78 

VIII  "A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"  91 

IX  TRAPPED!  114 

X  "AT  CHARITY  FARM"  128 

XI  "THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS"  144 

XII  "THE  SUN"  161 

XIII  A  TANGLED  SKEIN  172 

XIV  THE  LURE  191 

XV  BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR  211 

XVI  THE  BROKEN  BUTTERFLY  231 

XVII  "PAN'S  FORTUNE"  247 

XVIII  THE  CLUE  26i 

XIX  THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  285 

XX  THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON  303 

XXI  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING  320 

XXII  THE  MOON  STOOPS  336 


2129271 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 


THE    MIDSUMMER    MOON 

MR.  TIMOTHY  CURTIS  rode  slowly  through  the  still  night, 
and  with  half -seeing  eyes  watched  the  white  road  to  the  west 
unroll  itself  before  him  under  the  light  of  the  midsummer 
moon.  His  brows  were  drawn  together  in  a  dark  frown,  and 
his  face  wore  a  look  of  deep  dejection  most  unusual  with 
this  happy  mortal.  For  Timothy  Curtis,  though  hampered 
by  the  possession  of  what  he  considered  a  wholly  inadequate 
income,  was  never  one  to  waste  time  in  counting  his  lacks. 
He  brought  to  each  draught  of  life  a  zest,  which  amply 
atoned  for  any  want  of  savour  in  the  cup,  and  deeming  the 
possession  of  a  strong  sword-arm,  a  host  of  friends,  and  a 
wealthy  uncle,  whom  Time  might  propitiate,  sufficient  riches 
for  any  man,  he  commonly  won  the  smiles  of  Fortune  by 
virtue  of  his  persistent  refusal  to  flinch  at  her  frowns. 

To-night,  however,  Timothy's  wonted  happy  outlook  on 
the  world  was  clouded.  He  had  ridden  long,  for  to  a  light 
purse  every  unnecessary  halt  is  an  extravagance;  he  had 
ridden  hungry  since  noon  for  the  same  reason ;  and  he  had 
ridden  in  solitude  owing  to  his  whimsical  preference  for  a 
journey  in  the  cool  evening  rather  than  in  the  dust  and  heat 
of  the  day.  But  none  of  these  considerations  was  responsi- 
ble for  the  melancholy  that  shadowed  his  soul. 

Nor  had  the  object  of  his  journey  appeared  altogether 


* 

distasteful  to  him  when  viewed  in  the  light  of  day.  The 
pleasures  of  life  as  hitherto  understood  by  Mr.  Timothy 
Curtis  must  be  purchased  at  a  price ;  for  ten  years  he  had 
en j  oyed  them  to  the  full,  and  now,  when  reckoning  time  had 
come,  and  he  had  no  longer  the  wherewithal  to  meet  the 
demand,  he  was  journeying  down  to  Bristol,  at  the  com- 
mand of  his  uncle,  to  bargain  the  graces  of  his  impecunious 
person  in  exchange  for  the  gold  of  a  rich  merchant's 
daughter. 

When  Lord  Westerby's  command  reached  his  nephew  in 
response  to  an  urgent  appeal  for  pecuniary  assistance, 
Timothy  was  in  no  wise  averse  to  the  scheme ;  he  was  press- 
ingly  in  need  of  money ;  he  was,  if  truth  must  be  told,  con- 
siderably weary  of  the  stock  beauties  of  the  town,  and  he 
had  the  utmost  confidence  in  his  uncle  as  a  connoisseur 
of  feminine  charms.  Consequently  he  set  out  upon  his 
journey  blithe  of  heart,  anticipating  no  difficulty  in 
his  wooing,  and  confidently  expecting  to  return  to  town 
in  the  space  of  three  weeks  the  affianced  husband  of  an 
heiress. 

But  now,  as  he  rode  through  the  scented  silence  of  the 
night,  the  still  magic  of  the  midsummer  moon  fired  his 
blood,  the  still  strange  light  enchained  him  in  a  web  of 
dreams.  A  yearning  seized  him  for  that  touch  of  the  un- 
real, of  the  romance  which  falls  at  times  from  heaven  upon 
happy  mortals  and  turns  desert  places  to  an  Eden,  and  a 
longing  awoke  in  his  heart  to  find  again  his  lost  belief  in 
a  disinterested  love,  to  place  faith  again  in  a  woman  worthy 
the  offering. 

For  the  moon  may  make  a  man  a  rascal  or  a  hero,  accord- 
ing to  the  secret  thoughts  of  his  own  soul ;  but  willy-nilly, 
she  will  make  of  him  a  lover  if  there  be  a  touch  of  romance 


THE  MIDSUMMER  MOON  3 

in  his  nature  to  answer  to  her  call;  and  his  soul  was  filled 
with  a  divine  discontent  of  himself,  of  his  life,  and,  above 
all,  of  his  errand. 

Timothy  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  moon  and  blushed  at  his  own 
shortcomings.  To  live  year  in  and  year  out  untouched  by 
romance  and  unhallowed  by  devotion — it  was  the  existence 
of  a  cow.  And  yet,  surely,  he  argued,  'twas  the  Fates  who 
were  to  blame,  not  he.  His  life  was  mapped  out  for  him  as 
was  the  life  of  his  class;  his  feet  were  set  upon  the  plain 
highway  of  life,  and  who  would  dream  of  meeting  romance 
upon  the  hard  highroad  ?  If  the  Fates  would  have  him  play 
the  man,  let  them  send  him  the  opportunity ;  he  would  not 
prove  a  laggard. 

Timothy  lifted  his  head  defiantly  and  flung  a  challenge 
to  the  calm-faced  moon;  but  even  as  he  did  so  his  horse 
shied  and  his  eyes  and  thoughts  came  back  to  earth  with 
unexpected  speed.  He  turned  to  see  what  had  frightened 
the  animal,  and  with  a  stifled  exclamation  pulled  up  his 
horse,  and  in  astonishment  remained  staring  at  the  appari- 
tion which  met  his  eyes. 

On  the  sloping  bank  by  the  roadside,  half  shadowed  by 
a  little  group  of  trees,  lay  a  girl,  fast  asleep.  She  was 
wrapped  in  a  handsome  riding-cloak,  her  head  was  resting 
upon  a  pile  of  tapestried  cushions,  and  on  the  tiny  shoe  that 
peeped  below  the  hem  of  her  brocaded  skirt  a  small  diamond 
buckle  flashed  in  the  shimmering  light. 

Timothy  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again.  The  girl's 
hood  had  fallen  back,  revealing  her  face  nestling  against  an 
aureole  of  amber-coloured  hair ;  she  seemed  to  Timothy  very 
fair.  He  dismounted  and  crossed  the  road  to  her  side.  The 
moonbeams  stole  between  the  shadowy  leaves  and  played 
about  her  form.  He  stood  looking  down  on  her  in  silence. 


4  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

The  dark  lashes  lay  softly  on  the  rounded  cheeks ;  she  was 
sleeping  very  quietly. 

A  sudden  overwhelming  desire  seized  him  to  learn  the 
colour  of  her  eyes.  The  lids  were  full,  oval,  fringed  with 
dark  lashes ;  the  raising  of  such  lids  is  as  the  drawing  back 
of  the  curtains  of  the  night.  He  longed  to  see  them  open, 
to  gaze  into  the  depths  beneath.  He  had  a  fancy  the  eyes 
would  be  blue ;  it  came  upon  him  as  a  conviction  they  must 
be  blue,  but  he  wanted  to  see  for  himself. 

She  slept  peacefully.  Timothy  looked  at  the  rosy  parted 
lips  and  drew  in  his  breath ;  surely  it  was  his  prerogative. 
Then  he  dismissed  the  thought  sternly,  and  kneeling  beside 
her  took  her  hand  softly  in  his  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 
He  lifted  his  head  and  nodded  gravely  to  the  moon. 

"Thank  you,  Diana,"  he  said  whimsically ;  "a  monstrous, 
promising  beginning." 

The  girl's  hand  stirred  in  his ;  he  lowered  his  glance  and 
found  himself  gazing  deep  into  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  filled 
with  a  look  of  uttermost  astonishment. 

"Thank  heaven !  they  are  blue,"  he  said,  with  satisfaction. 

The  position  was  not  without  its  charm,  but  it  was  never- 
theless embarrassing.  Timothy  dropped  her  hand  quickly 
and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  he  stammered;  "I  fear 
I  have  disturbed  you." 

The  girl  sat  upright,  and  looked  round  in  bewilderment. 
Then  her  eyes  met  his  again,  and  she  blushed  crimson.  She 
rose  to  her  feet  with  a  wonderful  assumption  of  haughti- 
ness. 

"So  you  have  come  at  last,  sir,"  she  said.  "We  are  weary 
to  death  with  waiting  for  you." 

"Madam?"  he  stammered  in  surprise. 


THE  MIDSUMMER  MOON  5 

She  looked  up  quickly.  "Have  you  not  come  to  our  as- 
sistance? What  brought  you  here,  then?" 

"My  lucky  star,  I  think,  madam,"  he  answered  gravely. 

She  resolutely  repressed  a  smile.  "Ah,  then  I  was  mis- 
taken. I  deemed  the  servant  had  fetched  you  to  our  as- 
sistance." She  paused  and  looked  significantly  at  his  horse. 
"This  not  being  the  case,  I  will  not  detain  you,  sir,"  she 
added,  with  a  gesture  of  dismissal. 

Timothy  had  no  mind  to  obey  her  implied  command. 

"Surely,  madam,  as  my  star  has  led  me  here,  you  will 
accept  my  help,"  he  argued.  "I  am  entirely  at  your  ser- 
vice." 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  sir,"  she  said  calmly.  "I 
thank  you,  but  your  company  mislikes  me.  The  sooner 
you  ride  on  your  way  the  better." 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  there  was  a  breathlessness  in  her 
voice  and  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  betokened  fear. 

Timothy  grew  more  persistent.  "What!  ride  away  and 
leave  you  here  in  difficulty?  Why,  madam,  for  what  do 
you  take  me?" 

"For  a  gentleman  of  the  road,"  she  answered  shortly.  She 
lifted  her  arm  and  touched  significantly  a  heavy  gold  brace- 
let of  curious  design  which  she  wore  on  her  wrist.  "I  deem 
myself  fortunate  that  I  awoke  in  time." 

Timothy  stared  at  her  a  moment  in  indignation,  then  he 
broke  into  a  hearty  laugh*  "Good  heavens,  madam!"  he 
cried,  "you  don't  imagine  I  intended  to  steal  your  jewel?" 

"Indeed,  I  know  no  other  explanation  of  your — er — your 
attitude  when  I  awoke,"  she  said  hesitatingly. 

Timothy  flushed.  "I  assure  you  upon  my  honour,  madam, 
your  suspicions  are  unfounded.  I  am  as  honest  as — as  the 
highroad.  My  name  is  Timothy  Curtis,  and " 


6  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Timothy  Curtis!"  she  exclaimed.  "Lord  Westerby's 
nephew?"  She  paused  and  eyed  him  doubtfully.  "It  is 
easy  to  learn  if  that  be  true,"  she  said,  and  began  to  walk 
rapidly  down  the  road. 

Timothy  followed  her,  leading  his  horse.  A  few  yards 
further  the  road  turned  abruptly  to  the  right.  At  the 
corner  the  girl  paused  and  looked  back  at  him. 

"If  you  are  Mr.  Curtis,  my  sister  will  know  you,"  she 
said.  "If  not,  the  sooner  you  ride  off  the  better." 

The  menacing  tone  of  her  voice  was  somewhat  belied  by 
the  frightened  look  in  her  eyes  and  the  nervous  clasp  of  her 
white  hands.  Timothy  smiled  at  her  reassuringly. 

They  turned  the  corner  of  the  road  together,  and  he  gave 
an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  comprehension.  On  the 
side  of  the  road,  half  leaning  against  the  bank,  was  a  heavy 
travelling  coach,  the  wheel  that  lay  beside  it  giving  at  once 
the  key  to  the  disaster.  The  horses,  unharnessed,  were 
tethered  near,  while  a  man-servant,  half  asleep,  sat  on  a  log 
beside  them,  clutching  a  heavy  pistol  in  either  hand.  The 
door  of  the  coach  stood  open ;  a  couple  of  cushions,  a  cloak 
and  a  fan  lay  scattered  on  the  road  beside  it.  On  the  steps 
of  the  coach  a  pretty,  pert-looking  waiting-maid  sat  bolt 
upright  staring  at  the  moon,  her  face  wearing  an  expres- 
sion of  supreme  disapprobation.  She  turned  at  their  ap- 
proach and  rose  primly  to  her  feet,  glancing  at  Timothy 
with  the  same  look  of  fear  and  suspicion  which  he  had  seen 
on  the  face  of  her  mistress. 

The  girl  looked  quickly  round  the  group. 

"Where  is  your  mistress?"  she  asked  abruptly. 

Even  as  she  spoke  the  figure  of  a  woman  appeared  from 
beyond  the  coach  and  hurried  eagerly  toward  them.  She 
was  tall,  and  bore  herself  with  supreme  grace  and  dignity. 


THE  MIDSUMMER  MOON  7 

Her  features  were  beautiful,  almost  frigid  in  their  regular- 
ity; her  complexion  was  very  fair.  She  wore  the  heavy 
masses  of  her  dark  hair  rippling  back  from  her  brow  in  a 
fashion  as  unique  in  those  days  of  pads  and  powder  as  it 
was  eminently  becoming  to  the  oval  of  her  face.  She  had 
the  air  of  one  well  accustomed  to  receive  men's  homage,  but 
in  no  wise  despising  it,  while  the  steadfast  look  in  her  dark- 
grey  eyes  betokened  a  greater  strength  of  character  than 
her  gentle  manner  would  otherwise  have  led  a  man  to 
expect. 

Her  eyes  were  eager,  her  face  flushed  with  excitement  as 
she  hurried  forward  to  meet  her  sister. 

"Who  is  this,  Celia?"  she  cried.     "What  has  happened?" 

Timothy  stepped  eagerly  past  his  companion,  and  bowed 
before  the  advancing  figure. 

"Lady  Wimbourne,  by  all  that's  marvellous!"  he  cried 
gaily.  "Sure!  but  I  shall  be  the  envied  of  all  St.  James's 
for  this.  To  find  you  in  difficulty,  and  have  the  sole  right 
of  rescue,  is  more  than  a  man  would  dare  to  ask  of  the 
Fates." 

The  flush  died  from  her  cheeks  and  the  light  from  her 
eyes,  and  for  a  moment  she  faced  him  with  a  look  of  blank 
disappointment.  It  was  not  a  gratifying  reception,  and 
Timothy  felt  his  self-esteem  ebbing  fast.  Moreover,  he  was 
conscious  that  the  younger  sister  was  watching  him  with 
critical  eyes,  marking  how  he  bore  himself  under  this 
ordeal. 

Lady  Wimbourne  was  the  first  to  recover  herself.  She 
bit  her  lip,  smiled  faintly,  and  extended  her  hand  in 
greeting. 

"You  are  most  welcome,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  graciously. 
"What  brings  you  on  the  road  at  this  unusual  hour?  Are 


8  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

you  journeying  to  Bath,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  or 
have  you  taken  to  night-riding  ?  If  the  latter,  we  must  look 
to  our  purses." 

"Nay,  madam,  your  sister  has  already  accused  me  of  dis- 
honest intentions.  We  are  here  that  you  may  allay  her  sus- 
picions and  present  me  in  due  form." 

Lady  Wimbourne  looked  at  her  sister's  blushing  face  and 
gave  a  low,  musical  laugh. 

"What,  child !  you  took  him  for  a  follower  of  Duval,  eh  ? 
Small  wonder,  too,  at  this  hour  of  the  night.  And  what 
hath  he  taken?" 

The  answer  to  that  was  what  Celia  wished  to  know.  She 
was  conscious  that  her  awakening  had  come  a  moment  too 
late. 

"My  sister,  Mr.  Curtis,"  continued  Lady  Wimbourne,  "is 
somewhat  new  to  the  world ;  she  made  her  debut  but  a  week 
agone.  She  has  not  yet  learned  to  distinguish  betwixt 
rogues  and  honest  men." 

"I'  faith,  madam,  when  she  has  learned  that  lesson  she 
will  be,  I  trust,  a  grandmother.  But  in  what  way  can  my 
poor  services  assist  your  ladyship?"  he  continued  briskly, 
turning  to  the  overturned  coach. 

"In  none,  sir,  unless  you  be  a  wheelwright,"  answered 
Lady  Wimbourne  quickly.  "I  have  sent  my  servant  on 
to  Newbury  to  bring  some  fashion  of  conveyance.  He 
should  return  at  any  moment." 

"But  we  have  waited  two  hours  already,  Adelaide,"  inter- 
posed her  sister,  "and  he  does  not  come.  If  this — if  Mr. 
Curtis  will  give  us  his  services,  I,  for  one,  will  most  grate- 
fully accept.  You  know,  Laidie,"  she  added  apologet- 
ically, "I  am  hungry." 

"But  nothing  can  be  done,"  interrupted  Adelaide  impa- 


THE  MIDSUMMER  MOON  9 

tiently.  "Nothing  avails  but  patience.  You  know,  Mr. 
Curtis,"  she  continued,  turning  to  Timothy,  "Tracy  is  still 
held  prisoner  in  town  with  his  broken  leg ;  but  he  would  not 
hear  of  our  waiting  till  he  be  fit  to  travel.  So  we  are  jour- 
neying to  Bath  without  him,  and  never  did  two  poor  un- 
fortunates suffer  greater  disasters.  An  hour  after  we  set 
out  my  groom  fell  ill,  and  we  were  forced  to  leave  him  at  a 
house  by  the  wayside  with  a  servant  to  tend  him.  At  noon 
to-day,  when  we  halted  at  Reading,  my  second  groom 
disappeared,  and  after  waiting  some  hours  we  were  obliged 
to  come  on  without  him.  At  six  o'  the  clock  one  of  the  horses 
fell  lame,  and  we  must  needs  proceed  at  walking  pace ;  and 
now — now  this  pestilent  wheel  has  deceived  us,  and  we  are 
tossed  out  on  to  the  roadside  for  all  the  world  like  a  sack  of 
potatoes.  Were  ever  two  poor  innocents  more  maltreated 
by  the  Fates?" 

She  spoke  lightly,  but  her  eyes  were  restless  and  her  fin- 
gers worked  nervously  together.  Ever  and  anon  she  turned 
to  look  down  the  road,  and  twice  she  stopped  short  in  a 
sentence  and  listened  eagerly.  Timothy  regarded  her  curi- 
ously; her  present  anxiety  was  a  marked  contrast  to  her 
customary  placid  manner. 

"In  truth,  Lady  Wimbourne,"  he  said  gallantly,  "your 
misfortunes  are  assuredly  due  to  the  malign  influence  of  my 
lucky  star.  That  being  so,  let  me  repair  the  injury  and 
escort  you  to  a  place  of  shelter.  There's  a  village  but  a 
mile  to  the  south;  why  not  walk  there?  Or,  better  still, 
ride  my  mare?  The  inn  is  poor,  but  it  could  provide  us 
with  a  supper  and  better  protection  than  the  highroad. 
Does  my  plan  take  you?" 

"Lud!  we  are  little  better  than  fools,  Adelaide,"  laughed 
Celia.  "We  might  have  done  this  an  hour  agone," 


10  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"And  have  deprived  me  of  the  inestimable  pleasure  of 
escorting  you,"  interposed  Timothy.  "Gad!  madam,  that 
would  have  been  too  plaguy  selfish." 

Adelaide  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  puckered 
brows. 

"No,"  she  said  quickly,  "we — we  will  remain  here.  It 
were  wiser.  The  groom  must  return  presently.  Indeed, 
I  would  prefer  it." 

"It  is  not  safe  for  you  to  remain  here  alone,"  he  argued 
impatiently.  "The  roads  are  infested  with  vagabonds. 
Tracy  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  left  you.  Come,  mad- 
am, consent;  I  swear  the  inn  is  not  so  bad,  and  if  all  else 
fails,  I  am  reckoned  a  passable  cook  myself." 

But  she  pressed  her  hands  tightly  together  in  distress,  and 
looked  from  side  to  side  as  though  seeking  escape  from  his 
importunity. 

"I  will  remain  here,"  she  muttered  obstinately.  "Indeed, 
sir,  you  distress  me  by  this  insistence.  I  pray  you,  begone 
and  leave  us." 

Timothy,  annoyed  at  her  obstinacy,  could  say  no  more, 
and  turned  to  mount  his  horse.  But  here  the  younger  sis- 
ter intervened.  She  laid  her  hand  shyly  on  his  arm  to 
detain  him. 

"No,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  resolutely;  "we  are  going 
with  you."  Then  she  turned  to  Adelaide.  "  'Twould  seem 
the  moon  has  turned  you  crazy,  Laidie.  Here  has  this 
gentleman,  whom  you  have  just  assured  me  is  an  honest 
man,  propounded  a  scheme  for  our  comfort  so  simple  that 
we  never  even  thought  of  it ;  in  heaven's  name,  then,  what 
sense  lies  in  refusing  it?  We  will  go." 

Adelaide  bit  her  lip  and  eyed  her  sister  nervously. 

"You  do  not  understand,  child,"  she  began  nervously. 


THE  MIDSUMMER  MOON  11 

"No,  I  do  not,"  responded  Celia  quietly.  "And  if  'tis 
our  reputations  you  would  consider,  I  tell  you  plainly, 
Laidie,  I  prefer  my  supper.  Come,  Laidie,"  she  coaxed, 
"I  am  going  with  Mr.  Curtis,  so  'tis  your  bounden  duty  to 
play  the  duenna." 

"No,  no,"  cried  Adelaide  desperately.  Then  she  broke  off 
abruptly  and  walked  hurriedly  to  the  bend  in  the  road. 
She  lifted  her  hands  to  her  eyes  and  looked  out  along  the 
white  track  for  a  minute  or  two  in  silence.  When  she  re- 
turned to  the  others  her  face  was  white,  but  her  manner  had 
regained  its  customary  composure. 

"You  are  right,  dear,"  she  said;  "we  will  go  with  Mr. 
Curtis.  Tracy  would  wish  it.  Come,  Martha,  help  that 
fellow  to  put  our  mails  on  the  horses." 

They  all  set  to  work  rapidly  on  their  preparations,  and 
in  less  than  ten  minutes  were  on  their  way.  Timothy  led 
the  pack-horses  and  Adelaide  rode  his  mare,  while  Celia 
walked  by  her  side  with  her  arm  through  the  bridle.  The 
maid  Martha,  sad  of  face  and  prim  of  mien,  brought  up  the 
rear. 

They  reached  the  inn  about  midnight,  and  with  some 
trouble  procured  within  half  an  hour  a  supper  not  wholly 
unworthy  of  the  appetites  with  which  they  attacked  it. 

Their  spirits  rallied  considerably  as  the  meal  progressed. 
Adelaide  was  the  most  silent  of  the  three,  but  even  she  made 
a  fair  attempt  to  throw  aside  the  anxiety  which  seemed  to 
oppress  her,  and  rallied  her  sister  playfully  about  her 
youth  and  the  wonders  she  expected  from  this  first  visit  to 
Bath. 

"Happy  child,"  she  sighed,  "to  stand  at  the  threshold  of 
life  and  dream  that  a  romance  lurks  beneath  every  rose- 
bush." 


12  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Celia  blushed  and  gave  a  wise  little  smile. 

"Indeed,  Laidie,"  she  said  softly,  "I  had  rather  dream 
that  all  my  life  than  believe,  as  some  of  your  town  gallants 
profess  to  do,  that  all  romance  died  out  of  the  world  a 
thousand  years  ago.  If  life  holds  neither  romance,  love, 
nor  honour,  I  had  as  lief  not  live  at  all." 

Timothy  turned  and  looked  into  her  eyes  with  a  quick 
smile. 

"Did  the  moon  teach  you  that,  madam?"  he  said  whimsi- 
cally. "Dame  Diana 

A  stifled  exclamation  from  Adelaide  stopped  him.  He 
looked  up  to  see  her  gazing  over  his  shoulder  with  parted 
lips  and  eyes  wide  with  eagerness. 

He  turned  in  his  chair  to  learn  the  cause  of  her  surprise. 
Behind  him,  framed  in  the  open  doorway,  stood  a  tall,  dark 
man,  booted  and  spurred.  He  wore  a  long,  many-caped 
riding-coat  and  a  wide  three-cornered  hat,  on  the  brim  of 
which  were  pinned  a  couple  of  white  roses.  He  scanned 
the  party  with  mild  surprise,  but  no  particular  interest. 

Timothy  turned  sharply  back  to  Adelaide.  Her  face  was 
calm  and  void  of  all  interest  in  the  stranger. 

"How  vastly  sweet  these  flowers  smell,"  she  said  conversa- 
tionally, pointing  to  a  bowl  of  roses  in  the  centre  of  the 
table.  "I  protest  our  hostess  must  forgive  a  theft." 

Leaning  forward,  she  selected  two  white  roses  from  the 
nosegay  and  pinned  them  in  her  bosom. 

There  was  a  clatter  in  the  doorway.  Wheeling  round, 
Timothy  saw  that  the  stranger  had  dropped  his  sword. 
He  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and  then,  with  a  polite  "Good- 
&pdwng,"  turned  and  strode  out  of  the  room. 

-08O1 


CHAPTER  II 

NOON-DAY 

short  summer  night  waned  slowly,  the  moon  sank  and 
died  in  a  bed  of  fleecy  cloud,  and  the  first  pale  grey  of 
dawn  lightened  the  eastern  sky,  but  Adelaide  Wimbourne 
never  closed  her  eyes.  She  suffered  her  maid  to  undress 
her,  indeed,  and  lay  down  beside  her  sister,  making  pre- 
tence to  rest ;  but  as  soon  as  Celia  was  asleep  she  rose  and 
dressed  quickly,  tucking  her  hair  into  the  hood  of  her  trav- 
elling cloak,  and  drawing  the  cloak  around  her  to  hide  all 
deficiencies  in  her  toilette.  Then  she  opened  the  door  of  her 
room  and  listened  intently. 

No  sound  was  heard  save  the  creaking  of  wood  in  the  old 
floors  and  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  other  sleepers.  She 
stole  to  the  head  of  the  stairway  and  peered  down,  but  all 
was  dark  and  silent.  With  a  sigh  and  look  of  disap- 
pointment she  hurried  back  to  her  room,  and  there  paced 
softly  to  and  fro  in  ever-increasing  hesitation  and  per- 
plexity. 

At  last,  about  three  o'clock,  a  sense  of  impotent  despair 
overmastered  her.  She  opened  her  window  and  leaned  her 
head  against  the  window  frame  and  allowed  the  ready  tears 
to  trickle  down  her  cheeks  unrestrained,  until,  in  utter 
weariness,  she  fell  asleep. 

She  was  awakened  suddenly  by  the  touch  of  something 
cold  and  wet  upon  her  hand,  and  looking  down,  she  saw  on 
her  knee  a  bunch  of  roses  wet  with  dew.  Springing  to  her 
feet,  she  leaned  out  of  the  open  window,  and  dimly  dis- 


14  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

cerned  the  figure  of  a  man  standing  below  beckoning  to 
her.  With  eager  face  she  stole  across  the  room,  throwing 
an  anxious  glance  at  Celia,  who  still  slumbered  peacefully, 
and  slipped  through  the  door. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  the  stranger  of  the  previous 
evening  awaited  her.  He  motioned  her  to  precede  him  into 
the  room  where  they  had  supped,  which  was  already  dimly 
illumined  with  the  pale  light  of  morning.  She  obeyed  him 
without  hesitation,  and  turned  to  him  a  face  bright  with 
relief  and  happiness. 

"You  are  Captain  McFee  ?"  she  asked.  "Oh !  why  did  you 
fail  me  last  night?  I  have  suffered  such  misery.  I  feared 
I  had  missed  you  entirely  until  I  saw  you  at  supper." 

The  man's  stern  face  relaxed  a  little  at  sight  of  her  eager- 
ness. He  was  tall  and  dark,  with  the  air  of  a  soldier,  and 
spoke  in  the  brusque  tone  of  one  accustomed  to  command. 

"Indeed,  madam,  'twas  not  I  who  failed  you.  I  waited 
for  two  hours  after  time  at  the  appointed  place,  ready  to 
play  the  highwayman  as  Sir  Tracy  directed — though  a 
more  foolishly  conceived  plot  I  never  heard  of,"  he  added 
impatiently. 

Adelaide  flushed.  "You  mistake,  sir,"  she  said  with  dig- 
nity. "The  plot  was  not  to  blame.  How  else  could  I  meet 
you  and  receive  the  papers  without  exciting  my  sister's 
suspicions  ?  And  all  was  going  well.  I  had  rid  me  of  three 
of  the  servants  and  delayed  our  journey  till  nightfall, 
when  that  pestilent  wheel  came  off  the  coach  and  ruined  our 
plans.  I  sent  my  man  on  ahead  to  find  and  warn  you,  but 
you  never  came." 

"He  did  not  reach  me,  madam.  'Tis  the  merest  chance 
I  find  you  here.  I  did  but  come  back  to  fetch  my  mails  and 
set  off  for  the  coast  in  despair  of  seeing  you.  And  I  would 


NOON-DAY  15 

have  left  again  without  knowing  you  had  you  not  given  me 
the  signal." 

Adelaide  smiled.  "I  deserve  some  commendation  for  that 
forethought,  at  least,"  she  pleaded.  "But  now  give  me  the 
papers.  My  sister  may  wake  any  moment;  she  must  not 
find  me  flown.  You  see  I,  too,  have  risks  to  encounter." 

Again  his  face  softened.  "You  risk  much,  madam,"  he 
said  gently.  "There  is  no  more  devoted  adherent  of  the 
cause  than  yourself.  We  know  it  well.  For  myself,  I 
would  have  no  woman  in  this  affair ;  but  this  ill-timed  acci- 
dent of  Sir  Tracy  has  given  us  no  choice.  All  the  re- 
mainder of  the  company  are  gone  West  already ;  there  was 
no  one  else  we  could  trust,  and  I  must  be  quit  of  the  coun- 
try to-night." 

Adelaide  lifted  her  head  proudly.  "Indeed,  you  can  trust 
me,  sir,"  she  said  quietly. 

"We  do  trust  you,  madam — with  our  lives." 

He  drew  out  his  snuff-box,  and  pressing  back  the  minia- 
ture in  the  lid  revealed  a  cavity,  from  which  he  drew  a  small 
packet  of  thin  paper,  closely  covered  with  minute  hand- 
writing. 

"Here  are  the  papers — the  key  to  the  cipher,  the  list  of 
our  company,  the  names  of  those  in  the  West  who  are  pre- 
pared to  support  the  Prince  when  he  lands  in  England,  the 
list  of  arms  and  ammunition  already  purchased,  and  the 
details  of  the  plan  as  already  arranged.  Now,  where  will 
you  carry  them?  Remember,  no  one  must  dream  you  have 
aught  of  such  importance  in  your  possession." 

"Ah !  I  have  a  hiding  place  as  secure  as  your  own,"  she 
answered  gaily.  Unclasping  a  heavy  gold  bracelet,  she 
pressed  a  hidden  spring  beside  the  clasp  and  unscrewed  one 
end. 


16  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"They  will  be  safe  in  here,"  she  said,  showing  the  hollow 
cavity  thus  revealed.  "I  wear  this  always,  and  none  would 
even  suspect  it  contained  aught." 

She  took  the  papers,  and  pushing  them  inside  the  bracelet, 
fastened  the  spring  and  clasped  it  round  her  wrist. 
"There  they  will  stay  until  I  hand  them  to  Tracy,"  she 
said.  "Are  you  satisfied,  sir?" 

He  nodded.  "Yet  you  must  not  be  too  secure,  madam. 
Remember,  we  have  a  traitor  among  us." 

"The  man  who  betrayed  you !"  she  cried  quickly.  "And 
you  have  no  notion  who  has  done  it?" 

"Not  a  trace,  madam.  Yet  I  was  betrayed  sure  enough, 
and  but  for  a  timely  warning  should  by  now  be  swinging  at 
Tyburn.  I  fled  London  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  must  be 
out  of  the  country  to-night  or  they  may  yet  light  on  my 
track.  That  one  of  our  company  should — 

"No,  no !  it  cannot  be  a  traitor  among  our  friends.  Some 
spy  has  watched  you." 

"Whichever  it  be,  it  behooves  you  to  be  careful,"  he  an- 
swered sternly.  "Look  you,  madam,  who  is  this  fellow 
who  rode  with  you  last  night?" 

"Mr.  Timothy  Curtis !"  she  laughed  softly.  "He  is  but 
a  feather-brain,  a  troubadour  of  fair  ladies,  with  no  more 
politics  than  a  baby.  Moreover,  he  is  Tracy's  friend.  You 
have  no  cause  to  fear  him." 

"And  wherefore  not,  madam?  Is  not  his  uncle,  Lord 
Westerby,  the  stoutest  of  Hanoverians?  What  brought 
him  here  with  you?" 

"He  fell  in  with  us  by  accident  on  the  road.  But,  indeed, 
he  suspects  nothing,  and  is  above  suspicion." 

"Madam,  he  may  be  all  you  say;  but  'tis  ever  wiser  to 
suspect  most  where  least  cause  appears.  He  is  Sir  Tracy's 


NOON-DAY  17 

friend,  you  say  ;  but  not  of  our  company  ?  Beware  of  him, 
madam,  beware  of  him,  if  you  would  save  those  whose  lives 
lie  here." 

He  touched  the  bracelet  on  her  wrist.  She  looked  up 
quickly  with  the  first  trace  of  fear  in  her  eyes. 

"Ah !"  she  said,  "if  the  papers  should  be  stolen " 

"There  would  be  hangings,  madam,"  he  answered  grimly. 
"Such  matters  should  not  be  committed  to  paper ;  but  I  can- 
not get  at  Sir  Tracy,  so  needs  must.  Come,  courage, 
madam.  There  is  small  cause  for  fear;  I  would  but  warn 
you  to  be  careful.  Now,  farewell.  I  must  be  away  before 
folk  are  stirring." 

"Yes,  do  not  linger.     Commend  me  to  his  Highness,  sir." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  He  kissed  it  lightly,  and  then 
laid  his  fingers  once  more  upon  the  bracelet.  "On  your 
life,  madam,"  he  said  sternly,  "watch!  Farewell.  God 
keep  you." 

He  turned  away  and  passed  out  of  the  door,  leaving  her 
standing  in  the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window  watching  the 
dawn  widen  in  the  eastern  sky. 

"I  wonder,"  she  murmured  with  a  sleepy  smile,  "I  wonder 
how  much  I  do  is  for  the  cause  and  how  much  for  Tracy?" 

She  was  startled  by  a  vigorous  yawn  in  the  room  behind 
her.  Turning  quickly,  she  saw  Timothy  Curtis  emerging 
from  behind  the  high-backed  settle,  yawning,  stretching 
and  rubbing  his  eyes.  Her  heart  almost  stood  still  with 
fear.  She  crouched  back  on  the  window-seat  and  he  was 
half-way  across  the  room  apparently  before  he  saw  her. 
Then  he  stopped  with  a  prodigious  start  and  rubbed  his 
eyes. 

"Good  Heavens,  madam  !"  he  cried  with  more  surprise  than 
politeness ;  "you  rise  betimes  after  your  journey." 


18 

For  a  moment  her  voice  refused  to  sound,  and  she  trem- 
bled so  violently  she  could  scarcely  stand.  Then,  lifting 
her  eyes  and  meeting  the  look  of  intense  surprise  on  his 
face,  she  forced  herself  to  smile  and  speak  as  naturally  as 
possible. 

"Lud!  Mr.  Curtis,  how  you  startled  me.  Faith,  sir,  I 
have  not  yet  bidden  farewell  to  my  bed.  But — but — wak- 
ing, I — I  missed  my — er — my  bracelet,  and  fearing  I  had 
dropped  it  here,  I — I  came  to  seek  it,"  she  ended  with  a 
little  half -deprecating  laugh. 

Timothy  bowed  gravely.  "And  your  search  was  success- 
ful, I  see?" 

"Yes,  here  is  the  truant.  And  you,  sir,  are  you  stirring 
early,  or  late,  to  rest?" 

"I,  madam  ?  I  have  passed  a  short  and  unholy  night  upon 
the  settle  yonder.  I  did  but  wake  two  minutes  since.  I 
thought,"  he  added  slowly,  "that  I  heard  voices." 

Her  eyes  met  his  defiantly.  "Indeed,  you  must  have  been 
dreaming.  And  pray,  what  said  those  voices — of  your 
dreams  ?" 

"They  said,  'Farewell,'  madam." 

"And  nothing  more?" 

"Madam,"  he  answered  quietly,  "even  in  dreams  a  gentle- 
man does  not  hear  what  is  not  intended  for  his  ears." 

She  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  quick  sigh  of  relief. 

"Lud!  sir,"  she  cried  lightly,  "you  are  a  very  Prince  of 
Dreamers.  I  vow,  your  sponsors  were  greatly  amiss  not  to 
name  you  'Joseph.'  For  myself,  I  have  dreamed  but  little 
to-night,  and  so  to  bed  till  noon." 

Hitherto  she  had  stood  resolutely  between  him  and  the 
window,  but  now  she  could  invent  no  longer  cause  for  de- 
lay. He  drew  aside  to  let  her  pass,  and  reluctantly  she  left 


NOON-DAY  19 

her  post  and  walked  slowly  to  the  door.  He  held  it  open 
for  her,  bowing  gravely  as  she  passed  him,  but  as  soon  as 
she  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  closed  the  door 
sharply  and  bounded  back  to  the  window,  pulling  it  open 
and  thrusting  his  head  out  into  the  cold  morning  air. 

As  he  looked  out  a  man  on  horseback  emerged  upon  the 
road  from  behind  an  outbuilding;  he  was  huddled  in  a 
cloak,  but  Timothy  recognised  him  as  their  visitor  on  the 
previous  evening.  He  glanced  toward  the  inn,  and 
Timothy  withdrew  his  head  quickly.  The  stranger  paused 
a  moment,  made  a  gesture  as  if  in  response  to  some  greet- 
ing from  an  upper  window,  and  touching  with  his  spurs  his 
horse's  flanks,  rode  away. 

Timothy  left  the  window  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  moodily  swinging  his  legs.  His  mouth  was  set  in  a 
hard  line,  and  there  was  an  unwonted  look  of  anger  in  his 
blue  eyes. 

"I  don't  ask  much  of  women,"  he  muttered,  "so  only  they 
be  beautiful;  but  if  a  woman  like  Adelaide  Wimbourne, 
married  to  the  finest  man  in  England,  can  stoop  to  midnight 
meetings,  with  that  poor  devil  of  a  Tracy  tied  by  the  leg 
in  London,  why — why — how  can  a  man  put  his  trust  in  any 
woman's  faith?  Romance — pish!  It's  only  moonshine. 
Give  me  honest  noon-day  and  the  open  road." 

So  saying,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  striding  out  of  the 
inn,  made  his  way  across  the  meadows  to  the  river  for  a 
morning  dip. 

When  Timothy  Curtis  had  finished  his  morning  swim, 
drunk  his  morning  chocolate,  and  perfected  his  morning 
toilette,  he  felt  more  disposed  to  take  a  tolerant  view  of 
the  world  in  general  and  of  woman  in  particular  than  had 
been  the  case  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Having 


20 

ascertained  that  the  ladies  were  not  intending  to  set  out 
upon  their  journey  before  noon,  he  lit  his  pipe  and  strolled 
across  the  meadows,  meditating  calmly  upon  his  duty  to 
his  uncle  and  the  advisability  of  giving  Romance  the  go-by, 
and  placing  his  hand  and  as  much  of  his  heart  as  remained 
to  him  at  the  disposal  of  the  unknown  damsel  at  Bristol. 

"A  rare  cozener,  Dame  Diana,"  he  mused,  as  he  strolled 
through  the  sunlit  meadow;  "as  treacherous  as  all  her 
sex.  But  she  pales  in  the  honest  sunlight  as  a  man's 
fancy  dies  in  the  light  of  sense.  Dreams  go  well 
enough  with  the  moonshine;  in  the  daylight  a  man  must 
live." 

So  musing,  he  topped  a  rise  in  the  meadow  and  stood  sud- 
denly spellbound,  gazing  down  at  the  sight  before  him. 

On  the  bank  below  him  sat  Miss  Celia  Winnington,  her 
white  dress  gleaming  against  the  pale  green  of  the  meadow- 
grass.  She  was  bareheaded;  soft  curls  blew  across  her 
forehead;  the  sun  touched  her  amber  hair  into  a  halo  of 
living  gold.  Her  round  arms,  dimpled  at  wrist  and  elbow, 
and  the  slim  white  hands,  pink-tipped  like  apple-blossoms, 
flashed  in  the  sun  as  she  moved  them  rapidly  to  and  fro 
weaving  a  garland  of  wild  roses  and  honeysuckle.  The 
oval  of  her  cheek  was  smooth  and  rosy  as  a  child's,  her  com- 
plexion was  very  fair ;  but  the  small,  pointed  chin  and  firm 
lines  of  the  mouth  gave  a  touch  of  piquancy  and  character 
to  a  face  almost  too  ethereally  beautiful. 

She  was,  as  it  were,  Love  and  Joy  and  Youth  personified. 
She  was  the  spirit  of  a  man's  dream  when  the  wine  of  the 
rose-scent  is  warming  his  blood.  She  was  as  fresh  as  the 
wind,  as  elusive  as  moonlight,  as  warm  and  tender  and  de- 
licious as  a  summer  day.  She  was,  in  fine,  Miss  Celia  Win- 
nington, whose  picture  every  man  carried  in  his  heart  as  a 


NOON-DAY  21 

happy  memory,  while  no  woman  marvelled  or  grudged  that 
it  should  be  so. 

All  this  Timothy  Curtis  dimly  felt  as  he  stood  above 
her,  watching  the  slim  hands  weaving  the  delicate  garland, 
watching  the  sunbeams  dancing  in  her  hair.  And  he  mar- 
velled that  he  had  noted  her  looks  so  little  on  the  previous 
evening,  and  thought  himself  a  fool  for  having  deemed  her 
sister  more  beautiful  than  she.  Then  suddenly  Celia  lifted 
her  heavy  lashes  and  looked  up  into  his  eyes,  and  Timothy 
ceased  then  and  there  to  think  at  all.  His  meditations  con- 
cerning a  man's  duty  to  his  uncle,  his  opinions  anent  the 
advantages  of  wealth,  faded  from  his  mind  as  though  they 
had  never  been.  The  sunshine  completed  what  the  moon- 
light had  begun,  and  Timothy  crossed  the  sacred  threshold 
of  the  land  of  Dreams. 

Timothy  sat  at  her  feet  and  they  talked.  The  Fates  had 
gifted  him  with  a  tongue;  there  was  a  savour  in  his  talk, 
and  jest,  and  a  pleasing  gallantry.  Celia  looked  at  him 
with  approving  eyes,  and  in  their  light  it  was  no  hard  task 
to  shine.  Perhaps  the  greatest  secret  of  her  charm  lay 
in  her  subtle  power  to  make  a  man  appear  at  his  best  when 
in  her  company.  For  vanity  is  not  woman's  monopoly. 

Presently  she  dropped  her  hands  on  her  lap  and  looked 
out  across  the  sunshiny  world  with  a  suggestion  of  wistful- 
ness  in  her  eyes. 

"Are  you  journeying  to  Bath,  Mr.  Curtis?"  she  asked 
simply.  Was  it  her  tone  or  Timothy's  vanity  that  gave 
her  words  a  meaning  most  precious  in  his  ears? 

"No,  madam,"  he  answered  slowly ;  "I  am — er — I  was  on 
my  way  to  Bristol." 

"To  Bristol!"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

The  light  died  from  Timothy's  eyes  and  the  sunshine  from 


22  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

his  world.  Even  as  she  spoke  the  word,  into  his  land  of 
dreams  stepped  the  spectre  of  reality,  for  to  him  Bristol 
stood  for  stern  duty,  for  loveless  wisdom,  for  unromantic 
reason ;  in  fine,  for  all  the  safety,  the  flatness,  the  solid 
advantages  of  the  hard  highroad. 

Therefore  his  face  fell  and  his  eyes  grew  hard  as  he 
answered,  "Faith!  even  so.  To  Bristol." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Your  errand  is  unwelcome 
to  you ;  is  it  not  so  ?  No  ?"  she  asked  commiseratingly . 

He  looked  up  into  her  eyes  and  made  a  last  desperate 
clutch  at  vanishing  reason. 

"Madam,"  he  said  sadly,  "I  am  going  to  be  married." 

"To  be  married?"  She  drew  in  her  breath  quickly,  and 
for  a  moment,  for  the  fraction  of  a  second,  a  shadow  dark- 
ened her  eyes.  Then  she  turned  to  him  with  a  bright  smile. 

"I  congratulate  you,  sir,  with  all  my  heart." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Timothy  glumly. 

"You  are  a  strange  bridegroom,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said, 
watching  him  curiously. 

"Madam,  I  have  never  seen  the  lady." 

"Never  seen  her?"  she  cried  incredulously. 

A  feeling  of  desperation,  of  defiance,  drove  him  to  confes- 
sion. 

"She  is  rich,  madam,"  he  said  bluntly. 

"Ah-h!"  She  said  no  more,  but  her  tone  expressed  so 
much  that  Timothy  winced  and  hardened  his  heart  de- 
fiantly. 

There  was  a  silence ;  then  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"Poor  girl!"  she  said  softly.     "Poor,  poor  girl!" 

Timothy  started.  Pity  for  the  lady  was  unexpected; 
was,  he  considered,  somewhat  wanting  in  taste. 

"Madam?"  he  stammered  in  surprise. 


NOON-DAY  23 

"It  was  surely  easier  for  a  woman  to  die  than  to  marry 
without  love,"  continued  Celia  softly. 

Timothy  grew  argumentative.  "But  is  it  not  possible  I 
may  not  be  so  happy  as  to  obtain  her  regard?"  he  asked 
hopefully. 

Her  lips  twitched,  but  she  answered  gravely:  "If  that 
could  be  so,  I  should  but  pity  her  the  more." 

"But  if  I,  too,  should  learn  to  love  her,  madam?" 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  "That  might  well  be.  The 
gods  oft  bestow  more  than  is  deserved.  But  were  I  the 
lady,  methinks  I  should  be  somewhat  suspicious  of  a  love 
that  follows  so  close  on  the  heels  of  convenience." 

He  flushed.  "Gad,  madam !"  he  said  testily,  "a  man  must 
live." 

"Assuredly.  I  should  have  conceived  that  a  man  would 
live — not  exist  like  a  parasite  upon  the  welfare  of  others." 

"  'Pon  my  soul,  madam !"  cried  Timothy  indignantly, 
springing  to  his  feet. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "Forgive  me,  Mr.  Curtis," 
she  said  softly.  "I  am  but  a  girl  and  know  nothing  of 
what  men  consider  honourable.  I  thought  only  of  the 
woman  you  are  about  to — to  rob.  Look  you,"  she  con- 
tinued quickly,  "think  what  is  the  life  of  a  woman.  She  has 
no  career.  She  may  not  work,  she  may  not  fight,  she  must 
not  stray  in  unknown  paths  lest  she  trip  and  smirch  her- 
self in  the  mire.  All  the  day  she  wanders  fettered  through 
her  world,  seeking  one  goodly  pearl,  the  true  love  of  a  man, 
and  when  she  has  found  it  she  barters  all  she  has  in  ex- 
change. Ah,  sir,  if,  when  the  bargain  be  sealed,  she  find 
her  purchase  counterfeit,  what  more  remains  to  her  in  life  ? 
She  cannot  make  the  bargain  anew." 

Timothy  stood  a  moment  gazing  down  at  her  in  silence, 


24  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

moved  by  the  unexpected  earnestness  of  her  tone.  All  the 
virtue  in  his  soul  was  wakened  by  her  words ;  all  the  expe- 
rience of  his  life  warred  against  them. 

"Madam,"  he  said  gently,  "are  not  these  dreams?" 

"Dreams!"  she  echoed  softly.  Then  she  laughed  sud- 
denly, and  looked  up  at  him  with  challenge  in  her  eyes. 
"Dreams !  Maybe.  But  it  needs  a  brave  man  to  dare  to 
dream  nowadays.  I  had  not  thought  you  a  coward,  Mr. 
Curtis." 

It  was  a  challenge  as  surely  as  if  she  had  flung  the  glove 
at  his  feet.  A  challenge  to  turn  his  back  on  the  calm  haven 
of  reason  and  self-interest  and  sail  his  craft  into  the  un- 
known seas  of  idealism  and  romance.  A  challenge !  And 
when  had  Timothy  Curtis  been  known  to  refuse  such?  He 
saw  himself  trapped.  He  looked  down  a  moment  into  her 
smiling  face;  then  he  flung  up  his  head  and  broke  into  a 
hearty  laugh.  "Madam,  I  take  up  the  glove,"  he  said. 
"Henceforth  I  will  dare  to  dream.  I  give  you  my  word 
that  I  will  never  wed  where  I  cannot  love,  and  no  woman 
shall  owe  her  scaith  to  me." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  held  out  her  hands  to  him  with 
a  pretty,  impulsive  gesture. 

"The  world  is  so  full  of  cowards,"  she  said. 

"Yet  you  do  not  fear  my  resolution  will  fail?" 

"No,  I  can  trust  you,"  she  said  simply.  Then  she  turned 
and  led  the  way  across  the  meadow. 

At  the  gate  she  turned,  a  troubled  look  in  her  eyes. 

"I  trust  I  have  not  been  indiscreet,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said 
simply,  "to  speak  as  I  did.  Adelaide  is  always  warning 
me  that  I  know  nothing  of  the  world.  But  I  forget  to  hide 
my  thoughts." 

He  took  her  hand  with  a  smile.    "I  think,  Mistress  Celia, 


NOON-DAY  25 

you  need  not  fear  to  show  them.  No  man  will  live  his 
life  the  worse  for  a  sight  of  them." 

She  smiled  back  at  him  gratefully  and  passed  on  through 
the  gate. 

Timothy  stood  alone  in  the  meadow.  He  looked  round 
on  the  sunny  landscape  with  a  new  light  in  his  eyes. 

"A  dream  may  pass  like  a  watch  in  the  night,"  he  muttered 
softly,  "but  the  remembrance  of  it  will  be  blessed  forever." 

When  he  reached  the  inn  he  found  the  ladies'  coach,  on 
which  the  wheel  had  been  again  secured,  waiting  before  the 
door.  Adelaide,  already  cloaked,  stood  ready  for  depart- 
ture.  She  greeted  him  brightly ;  her  face  wore  no  trace 
of  conscious  recollection  of  their  previous  meeting. 

"I  may  be  permited  to  escort  you  on  your  journey,  Lady 
Wimbourne?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

She  eyed  him  quickly  and  shook  her  head,  McFee's  warn- 
ing fresh  in  her  mind. 

"I  think  not,  sir.  There  be  many  tongues  in  the  world, 
and  last  night's  adventure,  were  it  known,  would  doubtless 
set  them  wagging  unpleasantly.  We  will,  so  please  you, 
continue  our  way  alone." 

For  a  moment  his  eyes  grew  hard  with  suspicion.  Was 
she  contemplating  further  midnight  meetings,  he  won- 
dered ?  But  she  smiled  at  him  so  innocently  he  banished  the 
thought. 

"We  shall  see  you  in  Bath  anon,"  she  said  kindly. 

"Mr.  Curtis  is  journeying  to  Bristol,"  interposed  Celia 
hurriedly,  as  she  descended  the  stairs. 

Timothy  flushed.  Adelaide  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  and  laughed  mischievously. 

"To  Bristol?  To  Lord  Westerby?  Ah,  well,  doubtless 
Bath  will  see  you  soon.  The  town  holds  many  attractions." 


26 

With  another  laugh  she  took  her  sister's  arm  and  led  her 
to  the  coach.  Both  turned  at  the  door  and  waved  their 
hands  to  him.  A  minute  later  the  coach  vanished  in  a  cloud 
of  dust. 

Timothy  waited  two  hours  after  their  departure,  lying 
upon  his  back  by  a  certain  sacred  spot  in  the  meadow, 
dreaming  of  blue  eyes  and  slim  white  hands  pink-tipped  like 
apple  blossoms.  Then  he  returned  to  the  inn  and  called 
for  his  horse. 

He  mounted  and  turned  to  the  ostler. 

"Have  you  ever  been  to  Bristol,  my  man?"  he  asked 
solemnly. 

"Ay !"  said  the  man  proudly ;  my  sister's  husband  lives 
there.  Keeps  the  sign  o'  the  Blue  Cow." 

"Did  you  ever  dream  there?" 

"Dream!"  cried  the  man,  stretching  his  head  in  amaze- 
ment. "No,  I  never  dreamed  o'  nowt  to  speak  on.  Nor  my 
sister,  neither." 

"Exactly,"  said  Timothy  with  a  chuckle.  "Bristol,  I 
conceive,  is  no  place  for  a  man  to  dream  in.  I  will  to 
Bath." 


CHAPTER  III 

"THE  TOAST" 

THE  chimes  of  Bath  rang  out  a  merry  peal  of  welcome  as 
Lady  Wimbourne's  coach  rattled  into  the  city  at  two  o'clock 
on  the  following  Thursday  afternoon.  Adelaide  was  weary 
with  the  journey  over  the  jolting  roads,  and  lay  back  with 
closed  eyes,  unmoved  by  any  interest  in  the  busy  streets. 
Celia,  on  the  contrary,  sat  upright,  her  face  flushed,  her 
eyes  gleaming  with  eagerness.  It  was  her  first  visit  to  this 
far-famed  city,  which  offered  to  every  debutante  the 
Eldorado  of  her  dreams. 

As  the  coach  turned  into  the  High  Street  an  overturned 
chair  brought  it  to  a  pause.  Celia  leaned  forward  eagerly 
to  watch  the  passing  crowds.  As  she  did  so  three  gentle- 
men stopped  promptly  and  stared  after  the  coach,  greatly 
inconveniencing  the  passers-by. 

"Great  Heavens!"  breathed  Sir  Marcus  Ormonde  de- 
voutly, "who  is  she  ?" 

"The  most  beautiful  woman  in  England,"  murmured 
David  Beringer  with  conviction.  "Did  you  mark  the  white- 
ness of  her  hands  ?" 

Sir  Charles  Rathborne  said  nothing,  thereby  doubtless 
intimating  that  he  thought  the  more. 

At  the  end  of  the  street  the  three  men  took  abrupt  leave 
of  one  another  and  went  their  several  ways.  Some  minutes 
later  they  encountered  one  another  again  inquiring  of  the 
Gate  Ward  the  name  of  this  latest  visitor  to  the  city.  The 
encounter  embarrassed  them  not  a  little. 


28 

"Egad!  Charles,  you  are  marvellously  interested  of  a 
sudden  in  the  affairs  of  the  city,"  said  Marcus  drily ;  "have 
you  a  mind  to  rival  Nash  for  the  Kingdom?" 

Charles  Rathborne  flushed.  "I — I  thought  they  were 
Tracy's  liveries,"  he  said  indifferently;  "it  seems  Lady 
Wimbourne  has  left  him  in  town." 

"It  appears  she  has  a — a  lady  with  her;  her  sister  it 
seems,"  said  Beringer,  idly  swinging  his  cane. 

Marcus  burst  into  hearty  laughter.  "You  demmed  hypo- 
crites. For  my  part,  when  an  angel  enters  the  city,  I  make 
no  secret  of  seeking  out  her  lodging." 

"Have  you  ever  noted,"  said  David  nonchalantly,  "how 
few  pretty  women  have  blue  eyes?" 

"Miss  Winnington's  eyes  are  not  blue,"  said  Charles 
quickly,  and  stopped  with  an  embarrassed  air. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Beringer ;  "they  are  as  blue  as  Nankin 
china." 

"They  are  grey — the  colour  of  distant  hills,"  said  Charles 
testily. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Marcus  resolutely,  "I  shall  go  and 
see  for  myself." 

He  swung  off  to  his  lodging,  leaving  the  other  two  to 
disembarrass  themselves  of  each  other's  company  as  best 
they  might. 

An  hour  later,  being  the  earliest  possible  moment  that 
etiquette  permitted  it,  Marcus  Ormonde,  resplendent  in 
blue  brocade,  sallied  forth  from  his  lodging  to  wait  upon 
Lady  Wimbourne  and  welcome  her  to  Bath.  At  the  turn- 
ing into  St.  James's  Parade  he  again  encountered  Charles 
Rathborne,  obviously  bent  upon  the  same  errand.  Marcus 
eyed  his  person  with  distaste  and  his  costume  with  con- 
tumely. 


"THE  TOAST"  29 

"You  are  plaguy  impatient  to  learn  Tracy's  welfare," 
he  said,  laughing  at  Rathborne's  embarrassed  countenance. 
"Lady  Wimbourne  will  be  monstrously  complimented  by  so 
ready  a  visitor." 

"It  seems  others  are  readier,"  muttered  Charles  discon- 
solately, as  voices  and  laughter  floated  down  to  them  from 
the  upper  window. 

In  the  drawing-room  they  discovered  Lord  Robert  Dacre 
already  in  possession,  supported  by  the  youthful  Sir  Peter 
Pernberton.  The  latter,  supplying  by  resolution  what  he 
lacked  in  address,  had  ensconced  himself  in  a  chair  directly 
in  front  of  Celia  Winnington,  and  being  notably  wanting  in 
subjects  of  conversation,  was  assuring  her  for  the  twentieth 
time  that  "it  was  monstrous  pleasant  to  meet  her  in  Bath." 

Adelaide  Wimbourne  received  her  visitors  with  an  amused 
twinkle  in  her  eyes,  and  after  answering  somewhat  con- 
fused and  absent  inquiries  after  her  husband's  welfare,  has- 
tened to  present  them  to  her  sister.  Celia  looked  up  at  the 
newcomers  with  a  bright  blush  of  welcome  and  a  demure 
little  smile,  which  conveyed  to  each  the  assurance  that  she 
was  well  aware  this  was  the  second  time  they  had  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes. 

By  the  time  ill-fated  David  Beringer  (who  had  under- 
gone troublous  times  with  his  cravat)  appeared  upon  the 
scene,  Marcus  and  Rathborne  had  firmly  established  them- 
selves upon  a  friendly  footing  with  the  fair  debutante. 
David  scowled  upon  them  as  he  leaned  over  Peter  Pember- 
ton's  barricading  chair  and  strove  to  make  opportunities 
for  meeting  Celia's  eyes ;  he  repented  the  half  hour  he  had 
wasted  in  futile  struggle  before  his  mirror. 

Lord  Robert  marked  the  scowl  and  turned  to  Adelaide 
with  a  reproachful  shake  of  the  head. 


30  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"I  trust  this  is  no  goddess  of  discord  you  have  brought 
us,  Lady  Wimbourne,"  he  said  softly;  "we  cannot  risk 
quarrels  in  our  company." 

Adelaide  looked  across  at  the  group  around  her  sister 
with  a  wistful  smile  of  a  great-hearted  woman  who  recog- 
nises that  her  reign  is  over,  and  stands  ready  to  offer  loyal 
homage  to  her  supplanter. 

"You  need  not  fear  that  Celia  will  throw  the  apple,"  she 
said  wisely;  "if  a  beautiful  woman  wakes  discord,  'tis  her 
own  doing.  It  lies  in  her  hands  to  make  love  either  a 
strengthening  bond  of  unity  or  a  hateful  seed  of  jealousy 
and  strife." 

"Yet  she  has  but  one  heart  to  give  in  return  for  the  many 
that  will  be  offered." 

"What  then?  No  man  can  be  the  poorer  for  having 
offered  his  love  to  one  so  worthy  of  it.  I  am  very  proud 
of  my  sister,  Lord  Robert." 

When  Celia  Winnington  entered  the  Assembly  Rooms  that 
evening  for  her  first  ball  rumour  was  already  busy  with  her 
name.  Glasses  were  levelled  at  her  from  all  sides.  Reign- 
ing beauties  resignedly  confessed  to  her  attractions,  and 
hoary  connoisseurs  pronounced  her  charms  almost  the  equal 
of  those  of  the  women  of  their  youth,  the  memory  of  whose 
loveliness  distant  years  had  so  wondrously  enhanced. 

Even  Mr.  Nash,  stern  arbiter  of  etiquette  though  he  was, 
for  once  relaxed  his  rigid  rule  and  gave  Beauty  precedence 
over  Rank,  presenting  Miss  Winnington's  hand  to  the 
Earl  of  Cork  for  the  first  minuet. 

"It  should  by  right  be  her  Grace  of  Shrewsbury,"  he  said 
anxiously,  when  Cork  proffered  his  request. 

"Preserve  us,"  murmured  the  Earl,  with  a  grimace ;  "her 
Grace  should  not  overtax  her  strength,  Mr.  Nash." 


"THE  TOAST"  31 

"Her  Grace  is  already  set  down  to  whist,"  intervened  Lord 
Robert.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  Beau,  let  Cork  lead  out  Miss 
Winnington  before  Peter  Pemberton  choke  himself  over  a 
compliment." 

"When  the  Immortals  come  among  us  'tis  only  right  we 
honour  them  above  mundane  rank,"  said  the  Beau,  with  the 
bow  no  man  ever  ceased  to  envy ;  and  the  Earl  of  Cork  led 
out  Celia  to  the  dance. 

It  was  no  slight  ordeal  for  a  woman,  that  minuet  at  the 
Assembly  Rooms  danced  before  the  silent  observance  of  six 
hundred  critical  eyes.  She  shared,  indeed,  the  publicity 
with  her  partner,  but  few  marked  the  man's  performance ; 
little  was  expected  of  him.  Many  women  trembled  with  ner- 
vousness as  they  danced,  tripping  and  floundering  through 
the  figure  from  sheer  terror  of  the  staring  eyes  and  whis- 
pering tongues.  More  than  once  a  debutante  had  fled  in 
tears  from  the  ordeal. 

But  Celia  Winnington,  in  happy  unconsciousness  of  any 
cause  for  fear,  danced  with  all  the  innocent  enjoyment  of  a 
music-loving  soul.  Her  graceful  head  dipped  and  rose  over 
her  billowing  skirts  like  a  sea-gull  swooping  to  the  waves ; 
the  lights  flashed  on  her  white  hands  and  mellowed  in  the 
delicious  curves  of  her  blue-veined  arms ;  her  young  figure 
swayed  to  the  music  with  all  the  charm  of  unconscious 
grace.  And  as  she  danced  she  smiled,  that  sweet  elusive 
smile  that  only  touched  her  lips,  but  deepened  in  her  eyes, 
telling  so  many  mysteries,  speaking  such  happy  hopes. 

It  had  long  been  the  complaint  of  many  that  the  ladies 
of  Bath  wore  too  grave  an  air  at  their  entertainments,  treat- 
ing the  dance  rather  as  a  solemn  ceremony  than  as  a  grace- 
ful pleasure,  and  robbed  the  minuet  of  all  the  witchery,  all 
the  coquettish  inspiration  of  its  interpretation.  These 


32  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

critics  were  enraptured  by  Celia's  performance,  by  the 
sweet  suggestion  of  surrender  in  her  curtseys,  by  the  subtle 
hint  of  challenge  that  lurked  in  the  laughter  in  her  eyes. 
Entranced,  they  watched  her,  and  when  at  length  the  music 
ceased  and  her  partner  led  her  to  a  seat,  to  Nash's  shocked 
amazement,  a  round  of  applause  broke  the  well-bred  silence. 

Celia  looked  up  in  surprise ;  then  realising,  at  last,  that 
she  was  the  object  of  this  enthusiastic  admiration,  she 
smiled  round  upon  the  company  with  the  happiest  expres- 
sion of  delight  in  the  pleasure  she  had  given  them. 

There  was  no  trace  of  triumphant  vanity  in  her  frank 
glance,  no  touch  of  pride  in  her  heart;  she  knew  she  was 
beautiful,  and,  like  the  flowers,  she  rejoiced  in  the  fact 
and  was  innocently  glad  that  her  beauty  should  add  to  the 
loveliness  of  a  world  she  found  so  kindly. 

Her  happy,  childlike  little  smile  of  acknowledgment  put 
the  final  touch  to  her  triumph,  for  it  awakened  in  the  heart 
of  every  man  that  chivalrous  sense  of  protection  toward 
woman's  innocence  which  no  fair  looks  alone,  however  rare, 
can  ever  touch ;  for  it  lies  deeper  even  than  man's  love  of 
woman's  beauty. 

The  beautiful  Mrs.  Greenways,  who  had  hitherto  reigned 
supreme,  laid  her  hand  on  Adelaide's  arm,  and  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  whispered  softly : 

"You've  brought  us  a  new  Queen  of  Bath,  my  dear,  and 
an  addition  to  their  number  is  seldom  welcome.  But 
she  wears  her  crown  so  sweetly  there's  not  a  woman  in 
the  kingdom  could  find  it  in  her  heart  to  grudge  her 
homage." 

Adelaide  carried  her  sister  away  at  an  early  hour  from 
the  Rooms.  It  was  barely  nine  o'clock  when  they 
reached  St.  James's  Parade.  They  sat  down  together  in 


"THE  TOAST"  33 

the  wide  window  embrasure,  discussing  the  events  of  the 
evening. 

"It  was  amazingly  enjoyable,  Laidie,"  said  Celia,  looking 
down  into  the  quiet  twilit  street  with  smiling  eyes;  "but 
it  would  seem  all  men  are  monstrously  alike  in  this  place." 

Adelaide  laughed  softly.  "Tut,  child,  you  might  be  as 
staled  as  Delia  Leslie  to  find  all  men  alike  on  your  first 
evening.  You  should  by  rights  have  lost  your  heart  a 
dozen  times  already." 

Celia  gave  a  sudden  start.  Past  the  window  rode  a  man, 
travel-stained,  on  a  jaded  mare.  He  whistled  softly  as  he 
rode,  and  turning  his  head  from  side  to  side,  scanned  the 
windows  with  half-expectant  looks.  Suddenly  his  eyes  en- 
countered Celia's;  He  paused  a  moment,  arrested.  His 
whole  face  lighted  up  with  the  quick  j  oy  of  a  man  who  has 
at  last  realised  his  dreams.  Then  he  swept  off  his  hat  and 
bowed  low  to  the  saddle,  and  straightening  his  shoulders, 
like  one  who  flings  off  a  load  of  indecision,  he  rode  on  down 
the  street  and  out  of  sight. 

Celia  drew  back  into  the  room  and  looked  at  Adelaide  with 
a  shy  glance  and  blushing  cheeks. 

"It  was  Mr.  Curtis,  Laidie;  I  had  thought  he  journeyed 
to  Bristol." 

Adelaide  looked  at  her  sister  whimsically  and  broke  into 
a  soft  laugh. 

"Do  you  indeed  find  all  men  alike,  Celie  ?  Faith !  what  a 
dull  world  this  must  be  for  you.  Be  off  to  bed,  child,  and 
dream  of  the  one  man  who  stands  alone." 

Timothy  Curtis  rode  on,  blithe  of  heart,  to  seek  lodgings 
near  the  east  gate  in  the  house  of  a  daughter  of  his  old 
nurse.  It  was  an  unfashionable  quarter,  but  the  rooms  were 
comfortable,  the  board  cheap  and  the  welcome  warm.  He 


84  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

settled  his  belongings,  changed  his  coat,  and  sallied  forth 
in  search  of  friends  and  supper. 

He  turned  first  to  St.  James's  Parade,  but  the  Wim- 
bourne  house  was  dark  and  silent,  so  he  bent  his  steps  to 
the  Bear  Inn,  where  he  learned  the  address  of  Marcus  Or- 
monde's lodging  in  John  Street  and  strode  thither  to  make 
his  advent  known. 

Sounds  of  revelry  greeted  him  as  he  approached  the 
house ;  it  was  evident  that  a  supper  party  was  in  progress. 
He  heard  Oliver  Shirley's  voice  raised  in  song,  struggling 
manfully  against  the  distracting  accompaniment  of 
Beringer's  flageolet.  With  a  laugh,  Timothy  brought  his 
rich  baritone  to  Oliver's  succour,  and  joined  in  the  verse  as 
he  climbed  the  stairs. 

Before  he  reached  the  topmost  step  a  door  was  flung  wide 
and  Marcus  Ormonde  rushed  out  with  a  hearty  greeting. 

"Tim  Curtis,  by  all  that's  marvellous!"  he  cried,  drag- 
ging him  into  the  room ;  "what  good  fortune  brings  you  to 
Bath,  you  demmed  slippery  blade." 

"Weathered  the  storm,  eh,  Tim?"  cried  Charles  Rath- 
borne,  greeting  him  gladly. 

"Did  the  heiress  prove  obdurate,  eh?"  asked  Oliver. 

"Egad,  no.  He  wheedled  the  uncle,  I'll  go  surety," 
laughed  Marcus.  "Never  lived  so  honey-tongued  a  vaga- 
bond as  Tim.  Come,  fall  to  and  eat.  Have  you  only  just 
arrived?" 

Timothy  sat  down  to  supper  and  the  others  grouped  round 
him,  smoking  and  asking  the  latest  from  town. 

"Out  with  your  tale,  Tim,"  urged  Lord  Robert  presently. 
"What  brings  you  to  Bath?" 

"I  had  a  fancy  to  visit  the  city,"  answered  Timothy 
vaguely. 


"THE  TOAST"  35 

Beringer  shook  his  head  solemnly.  "Ah!  all  the  world 
will  be  drawn  here  presently.  There's  a  wonder  come  to 
Bath,  Tim." 

"A  wonder?  What  like?  A  dancing  pig  or  a  muckle- 
mouthed  woman?" 

"Muckle-mouthed !"  gasped  Beringer  indignantly.  "Why, 
man,  it's  a  new  beauty,  Miss  Celia  Winnington." 

Timothy  looked  up  quickly.  "Ah!  you've  seen  her,  have 
you?"  he  asked. 

"Seen  her?  Gad!  yes,  we've  all  seen  her,"  said  Marcus 
whimsically ;  "that  is  why  we  are  here  now.  Nothing  short 
of  the  mellowing  influence  of  my  uncle's  old  wine  would 
have  kept  us  from  flying  at  each  other's  throats  to-night. 
Seen  her!  What  ails  the  man?  She's  been  in  Bath  nine 
hours  and  he  asks  if  we've  seen  her!" 

Beringer  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "Her  hair  is  like  a  wan- 
dering sunbeam  on  a  rippling  lake,"  he  murmured  raptur- 
ously. 

"Her  hands  are  like  the  silver  cloud  in  which  the  moon 
veils  herself,"  said  Lord  Robert,  not  to  be  outdone  in 
simile. 

"Her  voice  is  the  music  of  the  forest  in  spring,"  sug- 
gested Oliver  Shirley,  whose  stout  body  clothed  a  poetic 
soul. 

"And  her  eyes,"  intervened  Rathborne — "gad,  Tim,  her 
eyes^are  like  the  ocean;  no  man  can  speak  clearly  of  their 
colour.  When  she  looks  at  you " 

"When  she  looks  at  you,"  Peter  Pemberton  blurted  out 
suddenly,  "you  remember  all  you've  done  in  a  scurvy,  idle 
life,  and  plague  take  me,  but  you're  demmed  sorry!" 

Timothy  put  his  hand  kindly  on  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"Monstrously  wholesome  for  all  of  us,  eh,  Peter?" 


36  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Have  you  done  supper,  Tim?"  cried  Marcus  impatiently. 
"Give  us  a  song." 

"A  song!  To-night!  Not  I.  I've  ridden  twenty  miles 
since  noon." 

"Oh !  none  of  your  vanity,  Tim,"  urged  Marcus ;  "your 
voice  will  pass  even  if  it  be  a  trifle  rusty.  Fill  up  his 
glass,  Charles,  and  warm  his  blood." 

Timothy  rose,  glass  in  hand,  and  crossing  to  the  wide 
window-seat,  looked  out  into  the  night.  The  round  moon 
sailed  high  above  the  house-tops  in  a  clear,  azure  sky. 
Timothy  smiled  up  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"Come,  Tim,  a  song,"  urged  Oliver  Shirley.  The  others 
joined  in  the  demand.  Tim  turned  and  faced  them  with  a 
humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"I'll  give  you  a  toast  first,"  he  cried,  raising  his  glass. 

"A  toast !"  cried  Lord  Robert,  reaching  for  the  decanter. 
"Who  is  she?  Out  with  it,  Tim." 

Timothy  stood  with  one  foot  on  the  window-seat,  his  glass 
uplifted  toward  the  sky. 

"The  moon,"  he  began  slowly,  "is  rightly  dubbed  Queen 
of  the  Heavens,  for  when  she  shines  all  the  stars  grow  pale 
and  wan.  Whoso  looks  too  long  on  her  glories  loses  his 
wits,  yet  no  man,  for  any  such  dread,  would  willingly 
forego  sight  of  her  beauty.  Gentlemen,  I  give  you — 

But  here  Marcus  Ormonde  intervened. 

"Timothy,"  he  cried  reproachfully,  "I've  not  a  word  to 
say  against  Dame  Diana;  she's  plaguy  useful  on  a  dark 
night.  But,  demme,  if  I'll  have  my  uncle's  old  port  poured 
out  to  such  a  cold-blooded  queen.  Taste  it,  man !  taste  it ! 
You'll  understand  then  what's  fitting." 

Timothy  held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  continued  imperturbably,  "I  give  you, 


"THE  TOAST"  37 

not  Diana,  Moon  of  the  Heavens,  but  the  Moon  of 
Bath." 

For  an  instant  they  were  silent,  not  taking  his  meaning, 
then,  with  a  shout  of  delight,  Marcus  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Demme,  Tim,  I  knew  your  tongue  would  hit  the  mark," 
he  cried  enthusiastically.  "Come,  fill  your  glasses  and 
drink  her  health  with  royal  honours.  Miss  Celia  Winning- 
ton,  the  Moon  of  Bath !" 

They  rose  to  their  feet  with  brimming  glasses  held  high 
above  the  shining  candles,  the  light  bejewelling  the  ruby 
wine.  There  was  a  shout  of  agreement,  a  moment's  silence, 
and  then  the  crash  and  tinkle  of  a  hundred  atoms  of  shim- 
mering glass. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"ON  GUABD" 

A  MONOTONOUS  splash  of  a  fountain,  a  rustle  of  silk,  and 
a  never-ceasing  babble  of  talk;  a  sea  of  rainbow-coloured 
silks,  a  forest  of  nodding  curls,  a  bevy  of  fair  women's 
faces;  add  music,  sunshine,  and  laughter  and  you  have  a 
picture  of  the  Pump  Room  at  Bath  on  a  bright  July  morn- 
ing in  the  year  of  Grace  1745. 

The  company  in  the  room  was  mostly  feminine  at  this 
hour.  Here  and  there  a  bass  voice  deepened  the  treble  of 
talk,  here  and  there  a  smooth  head  broke  the  tossing  surface 
of  elaborate  curls.  Mr.  Nash  was  there,  over  seventy,  but 
still  alert,  quick-eyed,  passing  from  group  to  group  with 
the  same  sharp  word  for  ill-manners  or  impertinence,  the 
same  kindly  smile  for  every  shy  debutante  hiding  behind 
her  mother's  skirts.  Elderly  men,  more  concerned  with 
the  cure  than  with  gallantries,  hobbled  painfully  about  the 
room.  Half  a  dozen  wits  of  that  genius  that  requires 
woman's  appreciation  whispered  to  as  many  groups  of 
ladies  with  the  complacent  knowledge  that  their  words 
would  win  the  immortality  of  Bath.  As  many  lovers  hung 
at  the  skirts  of  their  mistresses. 

But  for  the  most  part  the  men  took  their  glass  in  the 
gardens,  strolling  to  and  fro  on  the  sunlit  terrace  or  loung- 
ing near  the  gate  to  watch  the  arrival  of  the  more  cele- 
brated beauties  of  the  town. 

The  group  round  the  gate  was  unwontedly  large  that 
morning,  for  Lady  Wimbourne  unaccountably  stayed  her 


"ON  GUARD"  39 

coming,  and  with  Lady  Wimbourne  would  come  the  new 
toast  of  Bath,  Miss  Celia  Winnington.  Queenship  in  that 
company  was  an  uncertain  tenure ;  few  held  it  more  than  a 
week,  the  love  of  variety  extending  even  into  this  domain, 
but  the  Queen  of  Bath  had,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  royal 
reign  while  it  lasted,  for  none  withheld  their  homage,  and 
hearts  were  flung  at  her  feet  as  freely  as  nosegays. 

Celia  Winnington  had  a  knack  of  accepting  either  with 
the  same  quiet  smile  and  the  same  gracious  thanks,  and  of 
holding  the  gifts  so  tenderly,  and  withal  so  innocently,  that 
no  man  grudged  that  she  gave  him  naught  in  return.  Per- 
chance it  was  to  this  she  owed  the  remarkable  fact  that, 
though  it  was  now  full  ten  days  since  she  had  made  her  first 
appearance  in  the  city,  her  popularity  showed  no  sign  of 
diminishing. 

The  group  round  the  gate  moved  restlessly  to  and  fro, 
staring  eagerly  up  the  street  toward  the  southern  end  of 
the  town,  and  watching  each  approaching  chair  with  keen 
impatience  till  the  colour  of  the  liveries  might  be  discerned. 
Occasionally  one  or  two  broke  away  and  strolled  up  to  the 
terrace  to  exchange  greetings  with  the  various  ladies  who 
ventured  out  into  the  sun.  But  few  stayed  long  away  from 
the  post  of  vantage  at  the  entrance  to  the  gardens. 

Presently  a  man  emerged  from  the  door  of  the  Pump 
Room  and  stood  looking  down  upon  the  attendant  group 
with  a  whimsical  smile  on  his  lips.  He  was  tall,  fair  and 
exquisitely  dressed  with  the  perfection  of  one  who  has 
bestowed  infinite  thought  upon  the  subject.  His  wide  grey 
eyes  wore  a  look  of  half-bored  amusement,  and  his  lips 
curled  in  an  habitual  good-tempered  sneer.  His  expression 
was  that  of  one  who  deems  the  world  no  better  than  it  should 
be,  and  finds  no  heart  to  blame  it  for  its  sins.  It  was  a 


40  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

face  to  attract,  a  face  to  be  loved,  but  too  reckless,  too 
cynical  to  be  trusted  by  man  or  woman. 

He  strolled  slowly  down  toward  the  gate,  and  seating  him- 
self on  a  bench,  put  up  his  quizzing  glass  and  surveyed  the 
attendant  gallants  solemnly,  shaking  his  head  gravely  over 
their  plight. 

"  Ton  my  soul,"  he  began  sadly,  "  'pon  my  soul,  but  it 
goes  to  my  heart  to  see  you.  Here  are  some  twenty  stout 
hearts  quavering  at  the  advent  of  one  chit  of  a  girl ;  twenty 
honest  souls  sighing  for  one  smile.  And  all  in  vain !  For 
I  tell  you  plainly,  what  fraction  of  a  heart  she  possesses 
was  bestowed  upon  me  full  sixteen  years  ago.  You  waste 
your  pains,  gentlemen." 

The  group  of  men  wheeled  round  and  faced  her  brother 
in  impotent  embarrassment.  No  man  avowedly  awaited 
for  Miss  Celia  Winnington,  though  each  guessed  the  reason 
of  the  others'  impatience;  to  hear  the  fact  that  they  had 
waited  an  hour  for  the  chance  of  a  passing  smile  thus  baldly 
stated  in  words  upset  their  self-esteem. 

"You  go  home,  Rory  Winnington,"  said  David  Beringer 
gloomily.  "It's  monstrous  unfriendly  of  you  to — to — to 
quiz  your  friends.  Monstrous  ungentlemanly." 

Rory  opened  his  eyes  in  well-feigned  amazement. 

"Unfriendly!  Why,  man,  aren't  I  talking  on  the  very 
subject  that  should  by  rights  interest  you  most  amazingly? 
Aren't  I  warning  you  from  wasting  your  time?  Look  at 
Tim  Curtis,  there.  He's  so  far  gone  in  love  he  doesn't 
know  a  knave  from  a  deuce,  but  he'll  lose  nothing  for  want 
of  asking.  Didn't  he  order  a  certain  lady  to  come  in  out 
of  the  damp  yesterday,  and  didn't  she  dance  twice  with 
him  afterward  as  token  of  forgiveness?" 

Tim  flushed  at  the  fire  of  jealous  glances  directed  toward 


"ON  GUARD"  41 

him.  He  lifted  his  cane  and  lunged  playfully  at  his  tor- 
mentor. 

"Look  to  yourself,  Rory,"  he  said  good-humouredly ;  "I 
warrant  there's  a  weak  spot  somewhere  if  a  man  could  but 
get  under  your  guard.  Some  day  I'll  find  the  thrust  that 
will  touch  you." 

"Not  you,  Tim,"  said  Rory,  eyeing  him  lazily;  "not 
you.  You're  blinded  by  a  pair  of  white  hands.  A  novice 
could  disarm  you." 

A  stir  by  the  gate  announced  the  approach  of  the  long- 
expected  chairs. 

"Here  they  come !"  cried  Rory,  springing  to  his  feet  with 
mock  eagerness.  "The  morning  star  approacheth.  Lud! 
sirs,  how  my  heart  beats.  Davie,  stand  straight,  for 
Heaven's  sake!  Gad!  Charlie,  look  at  your  cravat. 
Peter,  Peter,  sure  you'll  never  appear  before  a  lady  in  that 
coat!  Have  you  seen  yourself,  boy?" 

The  men  thus  addressed  vainly  endeavoured  not  to  look 
conscious  as  the  foremost  of  the  two  chairs,  carefully  closed, 
was  deposited  at  the  gate.  There  was  a  rush  to  open  the 
door.  Beringer  and  Rathborne  were  the  foremost,  but 
Timothy  Curtis,  placing  a  firm  hand  on  each  man's 
shoulder,  swung  them  aside  and  took  the  centre  place. 
With  a  sweep  of  his  hat,  he  opened  the  door,  and  then  fell 
back  into  the  arms  of  Marcus  Ormonde,  while  a  roar  of 
laughter  rose  from  the  group  behind  him  and  rippled  back 
over  the  gardens  up  to  the  sunlit  terrace  beyond.  For  in- 
stead of  the  fair  face  and  golden  curls  of  Miss  Celia  Win- 
nington,  the  opening  of  the  chair  revealed  a  slight,  dark 
man  with  twinkling  brown  eyes  and  delicately  cut  features, 
who  sat  smiling  and  bowing  at  the  company  with  an  absurd 
imitation  of  a  simper. 


"Tracy  Wimbourne,  by  all  that's  holy !"  gasped  Timothy 
in  amazement.  "Why,  man,  when  did  you  come  down  from 
town?" 

"Lud,  sirs,  what  a  gratifying  reception !"  cried  Tracy, 
fluttering  and  becking  like  a  coquettish  girl  and  making 
eyes  at  all  the  assembled  gallants.  "I  vow,  'tis  overwhelm- 
ing. Here,  Tim,  help  me  out,  there's  a  good  fellow;  this 
pestilent  leg  of  mine  is  not  yet  healed." 

Timothy  and  Lord  Robert  helped  him  out  and  handed  him 
his  stick,  while  the  other  men  hurried  to  the  second  chair 
and  tried  to  conceal  their  disappointment  when  Lady  Wim- 
bourne emerged. 

She  looked  round  on  their  crestfallen  faces  and  laughed. 

"You  must  seek  the  rose  elsewhere  this  morning,  gentle- 
men," she  said  gaily.  "She  is  breakfasting  with  my  Lady 
Grey  at  Simpson's.  Rory,  you  dear  vagabond,  why  are 
you  not  with  her?  Surely  you  were  bidden?" 

"Not  I,  Laidie ;  her  ladyship's  too  bedad  honest  for  me." 
He  crossed  to  his  sister  and  took  her  hand  with  a  transient 
gleam  of  tenderness  in  his  mocking  eyes.  "So  Tracy  has 
come  at  last,  eh?  When  did  he  arrive?" 

"This  morning  only,  as  we  were  setting  out.  Oh,  Rory, 
'tis  Heaven  to  have  him  back  again." 

Timothy,  who  was  walking  beside  Tracy,  heard  the  ex- 
clamation and  looked  back  quickly.  If  ever  woman's  face 
expressed  devotion,  it  was  surely  writcn  upon  Adelaide's  as 
her  eyes  rested  on  her  husband.  Tim  thought  of  the  meeting 
at  the  inn  and  marvelled. 

They  passed  slowly  up  the  garden,  exchanging  many 
greetings  on  their  way.  It  was  evident  Tracy  was  a  wel- 
come acquisition  to  their  company.  The  party  came  to  halt 
at  a  seat  beside  the  door  of  the  Pump  Room,  and  the  men 


"ON  GUARD"  43 

gathered  round  the  newcomer  with  a  storm  of  questions  and 
chaff. 

Timothy  seated  himself  on  the  back  of  the  bench  behind 
his  friend,  Lord  Robert  Dacre  lounged  on  the  other  side  of 
Tracy,  leaning  over  his  shoulder.  The  other  men  were 
grouped  in  front  of  the  newcomer.  Adelaide  met  her  hus- 
band's eyes.  She  turned  to  Tim. 

"Will  you  hand  me  into  the  Pump  Room,  Mr.  Curtis,  for 
my  glass?  Rory,  will  you  come?" 

She  departed  with  her  escort.  Tracy  threw  a  quick  glance 
behind  him.  He  picked  up  his  wife's  fan  which  lay  beside 
him. 

"My  wife  has  left  her  fan.  Peter" — turning  to  Sir 
Peter,  who  had  moved  to  Tim's  vacant  place  behind  him — 
"will  you  take  it  to  her?" 

When  Sir  Peter  had  departed  on  his  errand,  Tracy 
Jeaned  back,  took  his  snuff-box,  and,  holding  it  up  near  his 
face,  slowly  took  a  pinch. 

"Gad !  how  strong  those  roses  smell !"  he  drawled.  "Are 
they  the  same  blooms  Allen  brought  from  France  last 
year?" 

Lord  Robert  lowered  his  eyes  for  a  second;  inside  the  lid 
of  the  snuff-box,  facing  him,  was  a  slip  of  paper  bear- 
ing the  words:  "The  Christopher  Inn.  To-morrow.  At 
nine." 

Tracy  shut  his  box  with  a  snap.  "Touching  France," 
he  continued,  "rumour  has  it  that  'the  Boy,'  as  Geordie 
dubs  the  Stuart,  is  growing  restive,  and  Pelham  is  buying 
eyes  and  ears  by  the  bushel." 

Presently  Lord  Robert  drifted  away  and  joined  Mr.  Sec- 
combe,  who  was  leaving  the  gardens. 

"The  Christopher  Inn — to-morrow — at  nine,"   he   said, 


44  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

as  they  strolled  through  the  gate.  They  parted  at  Abbey 
Green  with  a  nod. 

The  Abbey  clock  chimed  ten.  The  company  began 
to  disperse;  the  men  to  read  the  news-sheets  at  the  coffee 
houses;  the  ladies,  for  the  most  part,  to  the  mercers' 
shops. 

Adelaide  came  out  of  the  Pump  Room  with  Tim  still  in 
attendance.  She  paused  at  the  door  and  turned  to  him 
with  a  mischievous  smile. 

"Mr.  Curtis,  why  do  you  not  ride  on  Claverton  Down  this 
morning?"  she  asked.  "  'Tis  a  monstrously  favoured  spot 
for  riding  parties — so  Celia  assures  me." 

Timothy  met  her  smile  with  a  look  of  intelligence. 

"Madam,  if  you  advise  it,  I  will  go  there  presently,"  he 
answered  joyously. 

She  dismissed  him  with  a  smile,  and  Timothy  departed 
with  a  grateful  heart.  Lady  Wimbourne's  conduct  toward 
him  puzzled  him.  She  seemed  at  times  to  welcome  and  en- 
courage his  attention  to  her  sister,  but  anon  he  would  find 
her  watching  him  suspiciously  and  as  though  she  feared 
him. 

Adelaide  joined  Tracy.  He  rose  and  limped  through  the 
gardens  to  his  chair.  They  were  borne  to  their  house  in 
St.  James's  Parade. 

Directly  the  door  closed  upon  the  servants  who  had  helped 
him  up  the  stairs,  Adelaide  turned  eagerly  to  her  husband. 
He  sank  into  a  chair,  and  met  her  questioning  look  with  a 
reassuring  smile. 

"All's  well,  Laidie.  I  meet  them  to-morrow.  Now,  child, 
your  news.  You  have  the  papers  safe  ?" 

She  slipped  to  her  knees  beside  him,  and  laid  her  head 
fondly  against  his  arm. 


"ON  GUARD"  45 

"Tracy,  'tis  the  first  moment  alone  since  you  came,"  she 
said  reproachfully,  "and  you  talk  of  the  papers." 

He  laughed  tenderly,  and,  stooping,  kissed  her  hair. 

"Am  I  to  blame  for  that,  sweetheart?  Should  not  the 
King  come  even  before  you?" 

"I  should  not  love  you  near  so  dearly  did  he  not,"  she 
said,  laughing  at  her  own  inconsistency.  "But  tell  me, 
Tracy,  you — you — you — do  love  me?" 

"So  dearly,  that,  had  it  been  possible  otherwise,  I  would 
not  have  these  white  hands  soiled  with  intrigue  even  for  the 
King's  sake." 

"Ah!  but,  Tracy,  I  am  grown  a  rare  intriguante,"  she 
cried  eagerly ;  "did  you  mark  how  I  rid  you  of  Mr.  Curtis  ? 
He  had  shadowed  us  the  whole  day  else.  He  has  talked 
to  me  of  little  else  but  your  coming  these  ten  days  past." 

Tracy's  eyes  softened.  "Tim's  a  rare  blade,"  he  said 
affectionately.  "Where  have  you  sent  him,  Laidie?" 

"On  a  wild  goose  chase  on  Claverton  Down,"  she  laughed. 
"Tracy,  why  is  he  not  one  of  us?" 

He  hesitated.  "I  have  tested  him,  but  Tim  is  an  immov- 
able fellow,"  he  said  slowly.  "And  he  has — er — prin- 
ciples." 

"Hanoverian  ?" 

"All  his  family  have  always  stood  strong  for  the  Whigs. 
But  I  have  hopes  he  may  think  with  us  in  time." 

"You  like  him,  Tracy?" 

"He's  the  gallantest  heart,  the  loyalest  friend  on  earth, 
Laidie.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  have  thought  these  last  ten  days  that  Celia  holds  your 
opinion  of  him." 

"Does  she,  indeed!    And  he ?" 

"Oh!     Celia  is  the  reigning  toast.     All  the  world  is  in 


46  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

love  with  the  child.  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  jeal- 
ous, were  it  not  that  I  have  no  room  in  my  heart  for  aught 
but  you." 

"And  the  King?"  he  asked  half  mockingly. 

"No,"  she  said  quickly.  "My  brains  for  the  King,  if  you 
will,  but  my  heart  all  for  you." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms.  "Indeed,  sweetheart,  I  am  so  dis- 
loyal that  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise." 

For  a  minute  they  sat  in  silence.  Then  he  disengaged 
himself  gently  from  her  embrace  and  raised  his  head. 

"And  now,  child,  give  me  the  papers,"  he  said  briskly. 

She  checked  a  little  sigh,  smiling  at  her  own  jealousy. 

"Yes,  it  is  better  you  should  have  them  at  once,  before 
Celia  returns,"  she  said,  rising  and  unclasping  her  bracelet. 
"Here  they  have  lain  undisturbed  these  ten  days.  Are  you 
not  proud  of  me  for  carrying  them  so  safely?" 

As  she  spoke  she  touched  the  spring  and  unscrewed  the 
lid.  There  was  a  moment's  dead  silence;  the  bracelet  fell 
with  a  crash  to  the  ground,  and  she  raised  to  him  a  face 
white  with  terror. 

"Tracy,"  she  cried  hoarsely ;  "they  are  gone !    Gone !" 

"Gone!    Impossible!" 

"Yes — yes — "  she  muttered  dully.  "They  are  not  here! 
I  have  lost  them !" 

She  swayed,  and  held  out  her  hands  to  him  suddenly  with 
a  gesture  of  utter  helplessness.  Her  face  was  quivering 
with  fright. 

"Tracy,  help  me,  help  me!"  she  cried  despairingly. 
"What  can  I  do?" 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  putting  his  arm  round  her 
helped  her  to  a  chair.  She  sank  into  it  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 


"ON  GUARD"  47 

He  picked  up  the  bracelet  and  examined  it  carefully.  It 
was  empty.  He  laid  it  quietly  on  the  table  and  stood  a  mo- 
ment, his  brows  drawn  together  with  a  deep  frown  of  anxi- 
ety. Then  he  crossed  to  her  side. 

"Listen  to  me,  sweetheart,"  he  said  quietly.  "The  papers 
have  been  stolen.  You  are  not  to  blame,  but  you  must  be 
brave  and  help  me  to  find  the  thief.  Now  when  did  you 
put  them  in  the  bracelet?" 

He  waited  patiently  till  she  choked  back  her  sobs  to 
answer : 

"The  moment  Captain  McFee  gave  them  to  me.  I  have 
not  opened  it  since." 

"And  you  have  worn  it  always?" 

"At  first,  always.  But  these  last  few  days  I  took  it  off 
o'  nights  and  put  it  under  my  pillow." 

"Ah!    Why  did  you  do  that?" 

"It — it  marked  my  wrist." 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  little  despairing  smile  of 
wonderment,  but  made  no  comment.  Then  he  continued  his 
questioning  quietly. 

"Did  any  person  know  of  the  papers?" 

"No  one.     I  never  spoke  of  them  to  a  soul." 

He  thought  deeply  and  bit  his  lip  in  bewilderment. 

"Now,  sweetheart,  think.  Some  one  has  taken  them,  'tis 
clear.  Who  has  been  with  you?  Did  any  one  know  that 
you  met  McFee  ?" 

"No.    I  told  no—     Ah ! " 

She  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  sudden  gasp  of  enlighten- 
ment and  clasped  her  hands. 

"Tracy " 

"Ah!  you  suspect  some  one?" 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  faced  him  with  shining  eyes. 


48  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Suspect !"  she  cried.  "No,  I  know,  I  know.  Tracy,  the 
thief,  the  spy,  the  traitor,  is  Mr.  Curtis !" 

He  started  back  as  though  she  had  struck  him  and  put 
up  his  hand. 

"Adelaide,"  he  said  sharply,  "think  what  you  are  saying. 
Tim  Curtis?  Impossible.  My  life  on  his  honour." 

She  rose  quickly  to  her  feet  and  put  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Listen,  Tracy.  Mr.  Curtis  followed  us  from  London 
and  came  to  us  on  the  road  at  the  very  hour  Captain  Mc- 
Fee  should  have  joined  me.  He  took  us  to  the  inn  where 
Captain  McFee  lodged.  He  slept  behind  the  settle  and 
came  out  a  moment  after  McFee  left  me,  not  knowing  I  was 
still  in  the  room.  He  swore  he  had  heard  nothing,  but — 
He  asked  leave  to  escort  us  here  and  has  been  with  us  morn- 
ing, noon  and  night  since  we  arrived.  And,  Tracy — Cap- 
tain McFee  told  me  we  had  a  spy  among  us,  and  warned  me 
to  beware  of  Mr.  Curtis." 

Tracy  turned  from  her.  "I'll  not  believe  it,"  he  muttered ; 
"no,  I'll  not  believe  it."  Then  slowly,  "You  say  McFee 
warned  you  against  him?" 

"Yes,  dear;  he  bade  me  watch  him  well." 

"Have  you  seen  anything  ?" 

"I  saw  him  twice  talking  with  Martha,  my  maid,  in  the 
hall ;  but  she  told  me  it  concerned  some  flowers  for  Celia,  so 
I  thought  no  more  of  it.  Martha  has  been  much  sought 
after  these  days." 

"We  must  charge  her  with  the  matter.  Where  is 
she?" 

"I  don't  know.  She  left  me  two  days  since  without 
explanation.  I  had  thought  her  untrustworthy  be- 
fore." 


"ON  GUARD"  49 

He  frowned.  "I'll  have  search  made.  Is  that  all  you 
can  tell?" 

"There  is  nothing  else,  save " 

"What?" 

"Tracy !  I  had  not  thought  of  it  before,  but — he  lodges 
in  Boat-stall  Lane." 

He  looked  up  quickly.     "At  which  end?" 

She  nodded.  "Yes,  by  the  eastern  gate."  She  gave  a 
little  scornful  laugh.  "A  strange  lodging,  is  it  not,  for  a 
man  of  fashion?" 

He  rose  and  limped  restlessly  up  and  down  the  room. 

"Tim  Curtis,"  he  muttered.  "Tim!  Yet — yet  who  else? 
And  he  was,  I  know,  deucedly  hard  pressed  for  money." 
He  sighed  and  leaned  wearily  against  the  window,  look- 
ing out  with  haggard  eyes  over  the  sunlit  street.  "Laidie," 
he  said  softly,  "  'pon  my  soul,  I  had  rather  it  had  been 
myself." 

"Tracy,  Tracy,  you  must  do  something,"  she  cried  im- 
patiently. "Think,  if  he  has  the  papers !  The  danger  is 
horrible.  Do  you  think  he  has  already  betrayed  you?" 

He  roused  himself.  "Not  yet,  or  I  were  no  longer  at 
liberty.  No,  he  is  waiting  till  he  holds  all  the  threads. 
Doubtless  he  did  not  expect  me  from  town  so  soon.  But 
now  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

"He  must  be — silenced.     You  must  tell  the  company." 

He  stood  a  moment  in  silence,  staring  thoughtfully  at 
the  floor.  "No,"  he  said  slowly ;  "Tim  is — was  my  friend. 
No  man  ever  had  a  better.  He  may  be — what  you  think, 
but  I'll  save  his  honour.  Not  a  word  to  the  others  of  this, 
Laidie.  I  will  see  him  alone,  he  will  listen  to  me.  He  shall 
give  me  the  papers  and  start  the  world  again  as  an  honest 
man." 


50  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Her  eyes  flashed  angrily.  "Why  should  you  do  this? 
The  world  should  know  him  for  what  he  is — a  Hanoverian 
spy" 

"Hush,  Laidie,"  he  answered  softly;  "you  don't  un- 
derstand —  how  should  you  —  how  gold  can  tempt  a 
man." 

The  sound  of  voices  and  laughter  rose  from  the  street 
below.  Celia  Winnington  and  Lady  de  Putren  were  ap- 
proaching the  house,  escorted  by  a  number  of  gentlemen. 
Lord  Robert  Dacre  and  Charles  Rathborne  had  obtained 
and  resolutely  held  posts  of  vantage  by  Celia's  side.  David 
Beringer  sadly  consoled  himself  with  her  bouquet.  Roger 
Lee  and  Marcus  Ormonde,  though  forced  to  form  flanking 
parties,  succeeded  in  monopolising  the  conversation  with 
their  divinity,  while  the  youthful  Peter  Pemberton  and 
Oliver  Shirley,  who  was  stout  and  scant  of  breath,  were 
reluctantly  driven  to  escort  Lady  de  Putren,  and  could 
only  content  themselves  with  a  back  view  of  the  object  of 
their  devotion. 

Last  of  all  came  Rory  Winnington,  chaffing  Oliver  in  an 
undertone  and  murmuring  sadly  at  intervals: 

"Seldom  have  I  been  so  amazingly  neglected.  I  vow  'tis 
plaguy  unmannerly  of  you,  gentlemen,  to  leave  me  to  walk 
alone.  Lud!  how  can  you  be  so  ill-conditioned?" 

Celia  dismissed  her  escort  at  the  door,  and  leaving  them 
to  Rory's  tender  mercies  entered  the  house  alone. 

Adelaide  drew  back  from  the  window  and  turned  quickly  to 
her  husband. 

"Tracy,  must  we  not  warn  Celia?" 

He  hesitated.  "No,"  he  said  slowly ;  "she  believes  in  man- 
kind; let  her  keep  that  faith.  I  will  see  that — Curtis — 
leaves  her  alone." 


"ON  GUARD"  51 

"Poor  little  Celie !"  she  said  softly. 

"She  has  only  known  him  ten  days,"  said  Tracy  doubt- 
fully. 

"Ten  days !  Ay,  but  a  woman  may  live  a  lifetime  in  ten 
short  days." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    COIFFEUSE 

TIMOTHY  CURTIS  rode  over  Claverton  Down  for  four  mor- 
tal hours  on  that  sultry  July  day,  till  his  mare  was 
weary,  his  coat  dusty  and  his  temper  soured  beyond  easy 
recovery. 

Slowly  he  rode  at  first,  hopefully,  waiting  with  patience 
the  appearance  of  his  divinity,  dreaming  of  her  smile. 
After  a  while  his  patience  waned,  and  those  who  crossed 
Claverton  that  day  brought  strange  tales  of  a  vision  of  a 
desperate  man  galloping  his  weary  mare  wildly  from  end 
to  end  of  the  Down  in  pursuit  of  distant  equestrians,  and 
muttering  incoherent  imprecations  anent  all  human  beings 
of  the  feminine  gender. 

At  four  o'clock  Timothy  gave  up  the  search.  He  rode 
sulkily  back  to  Bath,  dined  in  gloomy  solitude  at  Simp- 
son's and  strode  back  to  his  rooms  in  mind  betwixt  dread 
of  disaster  to  Celia  and  an  indignation  against  Adelaide, 
which  prevented  his  hurrying  to  her  house  to  reassure  him- 
self. 

But  the  sight  of  a  well-known  figure  awaiting  him  in  his 
rooms  drove  the  frown  from  his  face.  He  sprang  forward 
eagerly  to  greet  his  visitor. 

"Tracy,  you  blade !  Why,  this  is  friendly,  to  seek  me  out 
the  very  day  of  your  arrival.  I  swear  Lady  Wimbourne 
will  deign  to  be  jealous." 

Tracy  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  played  nervously  with 
his  snuff-box. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  COIFFEUSE          53 

"Give  me  ten  minutes,  Tim,"  he  said  brusquely;  "I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

Tim's  face  fell.  He  looked  at  Tracy  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Ten  minutes?  Why,  what  ails  you,  man?  A  plague  on 
your  ten  minutes.  We'll  make  a  night  of  it." 

Tracy  shook  his  head.  "My  wife  is  calling  for  me,"  pres- 
ently. "We  are  bidden  to  a  ball  at  my  Lord  Cornwallis's 
house  on  the  Bristol  Road." 

"Egad!  so  am  I.  I  had  forgotten.  Is  your — is  Miss 
Winnington  driving  with  you?  Let  me  change  my  coat 
and  I'll  ride  with  you." 

Tracy  silenced  him  with  a  gesture. 

"I  must  speak  to  you  now,"  he  said  abruptly. 

Tim  stopped  half  way  to  the  door  and  stared  at  him  curi- 
ously. Then  he  tossed  his  hat  and  whip  on  to  the  table, 
and  dragging  up  a  chair  sat  on  it  astride  with  his  arms 
crossed  on  the  back. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked  cheerily.  "Debts, 
duns,  or  duelling?  I'm  all  attention." 

Tracy  opened  and  shut  his  snuff-box  nervously,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  on  the  medallion  in  the  lid. 

"Tim,  I — I  sounded  you  last  April  about  your  opinions 
concerning — er — the  House  of  Stuart." 

Timothy  set  his  jaw  obstinately. 

"You  did,  Tracy,  and  I  told  you  the  truth.  I'd  liefer 
see  Noll  back  in  Parliament  House  again  than  yon  demmed 
Prince  Lackland  pluming  it  at  Whitehall.  We've  a  steady 
government  now  in  the  country  and  civil  war  is  an  unholy 
terror.  Leave  Jamie's  son  to  play  tennis  at  St.  Germain's, 
and  give  Geordie  a  sporting  chance  to  show  what  he  can 
do  for  us." 


54  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Tracy  flushed.  "You  don't  mask  your  opinions,"  he  said 
shortly. 

Timothy  eyed  him  a  moment  doubtfully,  then  held  out  his 
hand.  "Egad!  Tracy,  you  and  I  can  sure  talk  politics 
without  any  'cut  and  thrust.'  I  am  ready  to  hear  what  you 
have  to  say  and  to  think  it  over.  And  for  Heaven's  sake, 
man,  if  you  must  conspire  and  talk  treason,  let  it  be  here, 
and  not  in  company  with  fliers  like  Roger  Lee  or  that 
rattlepated  Rory  Winnington.  You  can  trust  me." 

Tracy  lifted  his  eyes  and  fixed  them  earnestly  on  his  face. 
"Can  I?"  he  asked  slowly. 

Tim  flushed.     "I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said  stiffly. 

Tracy  lowered  his  glance.  "Tim,  when  you  found  my 
wife  in  the  Inn  parlour  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
how  much  did  you  hear?" 

"Wh — what?"  stammered  Tim,  staring  at  him  open- 
mouthed. 

"How  much  did  you  hear?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Tim  manfully,  "not  a  word." 

Tim  was  a  poor  liar;  his  face  betrayed  him. 

"You  can  tell  me  the  truth,"  said  Tracy  impatiently,  "I 
can  guess  it." 

Tim  flushed.  "I  heard  nothing,"  he  reiterated.  "It's — 
it's  demmed  ungentlemanly  of  you,  Tracy,  to  expect  me  to 
answer  your  questions.  Lady  Wimbourne  will " 

Tracy  stopped  him.  "Leave  my  wife  out  of  the  matter," 
he  said  sharply,  "I  know  her  story.  The  question  is,  what 
did  you  hear?" 

"Nothing." 

"You  won't  answer  my  question  ?" 

"No,  I  will  not." 

Tracy  hesitated.    "A  pressing  need  of  money  drives  many 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  COIFFEUSE          55 

a  poor  beggar  into  an  ugly  corner,"  he  said  slowly.  "I'd 
never  be  hard  on  a  man  for — for  one  slip." 

"I'm  plagued  if  I  can  make  out  what  you  are  talking 
about,  Tracy,"  said  Tim  peevishly.  "Out  with  it.  What 
hare  are  you  hunting?" 

Tracy  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  and  eyed  him  thought- 
fully. 

"Tim,  if  a  man  told  you  that  your  best  friend  was  a  com- 
mon traitor,  one  who  spied  upon  his  friends  to  betray  them 
to  the  Government ;  who  stole  papers  from  women  and  bar- 
tered them  for  blood  money — if  this  were  proved  to  you, 
what  would  you  do?" 

Tim  looked  up  at  him  lazily.  "It  is  conceivable  that  a 
man  who  brought  such  a  charge  against  a  friend  of  mine 
might  not  live  long  enough  to  prove  it,"  he  said  signifi- 
cantly. 

Tracy  winced.  "But  if  it  were  proved?  What  would 
you  do?" 

"Kill  the  traitor,"  said  Tim  carelessly. 

Tracy  rose  to  his  feet  with  an  effort  and  held  out  his 
hand.  "Ah!  I've  more  mercy  for  my  friends.  Tim, 
give  me  back  the  papers  you  stole  from  Adelaide,  leave 
Bath  to-night,  and  the  world  shall  still  hold  you  an  honest 
man." 

Timothy  dropped  his  hands  to  his  knees,  stared  for  a  mo- 
ment wide-eyed  at  the  white  face  and  shaking  hand  of  his 
visitor,  then  suddenly  he  threw  back  his  head  and  broke  into 
a  joyous  shout  of  laughter. 

"Great  Heavens,  man !"  he  cried,  "you're  demmed  drunk." 

Tracy  sat  back  into  his  chair  and  stared  at  him  doubt- 
fully. Was  this  innocence,  or  a  magnificent  effrontery? 
He  drew  a  bow  at  a  venture. 


56  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Curtis,"  he  asked  slowly,  "how  much  did  Pelham 
offer  you  to  spy  upon  the  friends  of  the  House  of 
Stuart?" 

His  shot  told  with  extraordinary  effect.  The  laughter 
died  out  of  Tim's  face.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  oath 
of  astonishment. 

"How  the  devil  did  you  hear  of  that  ?"  he  gasped. 

"You  don't  deny  it?"  cried  Tracy. 

"Deny  it?     No,  why  should  I?" 

For  an  instant  Tracy  lost  his  habitual  self-control,  his 
face  blazed  with  passion. 

"You  hound !"  he  cried,  "you  traitor !  Give  me  back  those 
papers,  or,  by  Heaven !  I'll  proclaim  you  to  the  world  for 
what  you  are,  a  contemptible " 

He  stopped  suddenly.  Timothy  had  crossed  to  his  side 
and  stood  over  him,  his  face  twitching,  a  peculiar  light  in 
his  eyes. 

"Tracy,"  he  said  very  quietly,  "you  are  mad.  I'll  not 
quarrel  with  you — I — demme,  I  can't  quarrel  with  you. 
But  there  are  things  no  man  shall  call  me  to  my  face. 
Plague  take  you — "  he  broke  out  suddenly,  with  a  laugh 
of  exasperation,  "what's  in  the  affair  to  make  such  a 
pother?  I've  done  you  no  harm." 

"No  harm  ?"  gasped  Tracy  furiously. 

"No,  but  I'll  be  plaguy  near  doing  it  if  —  if  Heaven 
doesn't  take  pity  on  your  madness  and  strike  you  dumb," 
muttered  Tim  savagely.  "You  crazy  fool,  do  you 
dream " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  turned  on  his  heel  and  striding  into 
the  inner  room,  banged  the  door  behind  him  to  put  an  effec- 
tive end  to  the  interview. 

Tracy   looked   after  him   gloomily.      "He  has   had   his 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  COIFFEUSE  57 

chance,"  he  muttered;  "we  fight  now  with  the  buttons  off 
the  foils,  and  for  his  life  or  mine." 

With  a  quick  sigh  he  limped  across  the  room  and  slowly 
descended  the  stairs  to  the  street. 

Meanwhile  Timothy,  in  no  very  pleasant  mood,  had  barely 
arrayed  his  person  for  the  evening's  entertainment  at  Lord 
Cornwallis's  house,  when  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  outer 
room  announced  the  presence  of  visitors,  and  his  servant 
Simon,  returning,  informed  him  with  awestruck  voice  that 
Mr.  John  Cogswell,  the  mayor,  waited  upon  him  and 
begged  the  honour  of  an  interview. 

Bidding  Simon  fetch  a  horse  from  the  neighbouring 
Mews,  Timothy  completed  his  toilet  and  strolled  in  a  lei- 
surely manner  into  the  outer  room  to  learn  the  meaning  of 
this  visit. 

The  mayor  was  accompanied  by  two  men:  one  stout  and 
placid,  with  an  air  of  a  prosperous  tradesman ;  the  second 
a  small  dapper  little  man  whose  sharp  glances  and  quick 
movements  betokened  him  wide-awake  to  the  ways  of  the 
world  in  which  he  lived.  When  Timothy  entered  the  room 
he  found  all  three  men  crowding  in  the  little  side  window, 
their  heads  close  together,  peering  down  into  the  alley  below 
with  such  intentness  that  he  crossed  behind  them  and 
touched  the  nearest  man  on  the  shoulder  with  his  cane  before 
he  could  gain  their  attention. 

They  wheeled  round  with  a  look  of  embarrassment  and 
bowed  respectfully. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Mayor,"  he  said,  laughing  at  their 
surprise,  "it  would  seem  you  find  my  window  plaguy  inter- 
esting. What  should  there  be  in  bricks  and  mortar  to  take 
your  fancy?" 

The  mayor  flushed  and  fidgeted.    "It  has  come  to  my  no- 


58  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

tice,  sir,  that  there  are  certain  tradespeople  here — very 
worthy  citizens,  Mr.  Curtis — who  have  as  yet  received  no 
payment  for  the  goods  delivered  at  your  rooms." 

"Faith,  Mr.  Mayor,"  laughed  Timothy,  "Bath  is  not 
unique  in  that  respect.  Such  worthies  are  by  no  means 
rare.  What  then?" 

"They — they  have  expressed  a  wish  for  some  guarantee 
that  they  will  be  paid  ere  the  month  is  out." 

Timothy  stared  at  him  haughtily.  "I  would  have  you 
know,  Mr.  Mayor,"  he  said  sharply,  "that  I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  giving  any  such  guarantee  other  than  my  name. 
And  I  consider  the  demand  monstrous  impertinent." 

The  mayor  hesitated,  but  Mr.  Simpson,  the  stout  and 
placid  proprietor  of  the  coffee-house  of  that  name,  took  up 
the  thread. 

"Your  pardon,  Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said,  "but  you  have  com- 
manded three  public  breakfasts,  four  supper  parties  and 
two  tea  parties  in  addition  to  all  your  private  meals  at  my 
rooms,  and  I  have  as  yet  received  not  a  sou  on  account. 
Mrs.  Proud,  the  florist,  has  supplied  bouquets  daily,  and 
there  are  similar  complaints  from  vintners,  mercers  and 
the  master  at  the  East  Mews  yonder.  Not  one  has  received 
as  yet  any  payment." 

"Well !  well !"  cried  Tim  testily  ;  "they  will  be  paid  in  due 
time.  Why,  plague  take  you,  I've  scarce  been  in  the  place 
ten  days ;  is  it  the  custom  of  your  tradespeople  here  to  dun 
a  gentleman  for  a  few  paltry  crowns  before  he  has  so  much 
as  unpacked  his  mails?  Demme!  such  a  custom  is  like  to 
make  your  town  mighty  unpopular." 

Here  the  mayor  again  stepped  forward. 

"It  is  not  the  custom,  Mr.  Curtis,  unless  the  gentleman 
have  a — a  reputation.  It  is  known  that  your  credit  in  Lon- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  COIFFEUSE  59 

don  is  exhausted,  and  our  worthy  citizens  would  not  risk 
too  much." 

Timothy  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  deliberately  helped 
himself  to  snuff.  "Even  so,  Mr.  Mayor,"  he  said  shortly, 
"I  should  have  deemed  it  less  impertinent  had  these  worthies 
lodged  their  complaints  themselves.  Is  it  customary  here 
for  the  City  Fathers  to  busy  themselves  with  a  gentleman's 
embarrassments  ?" 

"The  truth  is,  sir — "  began  Cogswell,  but  Mr.  Josiah 
Smith,  of  London,  intervened  impatiently. 

"Mr.  Cogswell,  you  are  a  fool,  sir.  Why  don't  you  speak 
out  plain  and  let  Mr.  Curtis  know  where  we  stand?  The 
truth,  is,  sir,"  he  continued  briskly,  turning  to  Timothy, 
"I've  been  sent  here  to  keep  my  eye  upon  a  certain  house, 
which  is  suspected  of  harbouring  lawbreakers,  of  cloaking 
their  treasonable  practices.  Information  has  reached  us  in 
London  that  matters  are  not  as  they  should  be  here.  We 
have  no  names  yet,  and  the  affair  must  be  kept  quiet  till 
we  know  our  ground,  but  we  are  sure  of  the  house,  and  if 
we  watch  it  we  have  hopes  we  may  catch  the  rats  in  the 
trap." 

"Well,  what  then?    What  has  this  to  do  with  me?" 

"It  is  difficult  for  us  to  watch  the  house,  Mr.  Curtis,  with- 
out exciting  suspicion  and  scaring  the  quarry.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  we  have  come  to  seek  your  help  in  the 
affair." 

"My  help !"  cried  Timothy  indignantly.  "Why  the  deuce 
should  I  help  you  with  your  dirty  work  ?" 

"In  consideration  of  such  help,  Mr.  Curtis,"  intervened 
Simpson  heavily,  "the  mayor  and  I  would  ourselves  be  guar- 
antors for  you  to  the  tradespeople  of  Bath." 

"Fool!  fool!"  muttered  Josiah  Smith  under  his  breath. 


60  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"The  matter  stands  this  way,  Mr.  Curtis,"  he  continued 
hurriedly,  holding  up  his  hand  to  stay  an  indignant  out- 
burst from  Timothy.  "The  only  place  from  which  this 
house  can  be  conveniently  overlooked  is  yonder  window.  I 
was  myself  in  favour  of  inducing  you  to  change  your  lodg- 
ing and  taking  these  rooms  myself,  but  the  mayor  here  op- 
posed it." 

The  mayor  looked  nervously  at  Josiah.  "I — I  under- 
stand that  the  woman  who  keeps  this  house  was  a  servant 
of  Mr.  Curtis's  family.  She — it  seems  probable  she  would 
have  refused  to  let  her  rooms  to  Mr.  Smith  without  Mr. 
Curtis's  consent.  If  you  would  undertake,  Mr.  Curtis,  to 
keep  a  watch  upon  this  house  at  such  hours  of  the  evening 
as  you  occupy  the  rooms,  and  to  permit  a  servant  of  mine  to 
watch  in  your  absence,  I  doubt  not  it  would  fulfil  our  pur- 
pose with  less  suspicion  than  my  presence  here  might  rouse. 
But  if  you  will  not  consent,  perhaps  you  would  agree  to 
change  your  lodging." 

Timothy  crossed  thoughtfully  to  the  casement  and  looked 
out.  The  window  overlooked  a  narrow  passage  leading 
from  Boat-stall  Lane  to  Cock  Alley.  The  walls  on  either 
side  were  blank,  save  just  opposite  his  window,  where  a 
couple  of  steps  led  up  to  a  bright  brown  door  on  which  was 
painted  the  modest  sign: 

"MADAME  GRIEVE.     TOILETTE  AND  COIFFURE." 

A  small  round  window  immediately  to  the  left  of  the  door- 
way was  shrouded  with  a  spotless  white  curtain,  the  handle 
and  knocker  were  polished  till  they  shone  like  gold.  The 
other  windows  of  the  house  looked  on  to  Boat-stall  Lane ;  in 
the  two  lower  ones  the  curtains  were  drawn  aside  and  a 
small  collection  of  wigs  and  curls  was  displayed.  The  house 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  COIFFEUSE          61 

looked  innocent  enough  in  the  summer  twilight,  but 
strangely  quiet  and  deserted. 

Timothy  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  away. 

"Why  do  you  not  search  the  house,  if  you  suspect  it?" 
he  asked  curtly. 

"I  have  made  inquiries,"  answered  the  mayor;  "it  would 
seem  that  Madame  Grieve  is  well  known  and  appears  to  be 
above  suspicion.  She  has  lived  there  for  two  years  past, 
plying  her  trade  as  ladies'  hairdresser.  I  can  learn  nothing 
against  her." 

"Our  information  is  precise,"  said  Josiah  Smith,  "but  it  is 
likely  enough  the  conspiracy  is  yet  in  the  egg.  Yonder 
is  the  house  where  it  will  hatch." 

"But  what  fashion  of  conspiracy  should  it  be?"  asked 
Timothy  impatiently. 

"In  favour  of  the  House  of  Stuart,  Mr.  Curtis,"  he  an- 
swered significantly. 

"Ah-h !"  Tim  started ;  his  thoughts  flew  to  Tracy.  "The 
crazy  fools !"  he  muttered  under  his  breath.  He  turned  and 
looked  thoughtfully  at  Josiah. 

"You  are  very  frank  with  me,"  he  said ;  "do  you  know  me, 
that  you  would  trust  me  in  this  affair?" 

Josiah  bowed.  "I  am  in  the  service  of  my  Lord  Pelham," 
he  said,  with  meaning. 

Tim  frowned.  He  turned  again  to  the  window  and 
drummed  on  the  pane.  If  there  were  indeed  a  conspiracy 
afoot  in  favour  of  the  Stuart,  then  Tracy  Wimbourne  was 
assuredly  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Moreover  if  this  house  were 
the  headspring  of  the  conspiracy,  then  Tracy  was  certain 
sooner  or  later  to  be  discovered  there  by  any  who  undertook 
to  watch  the  place. 

Josiah  watched  him  with  eager  eyes.      "May  we  hope 


62  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

you    will    consent    to    help    us,    Mr.    Curtis?"    he    asked 
eagerly. 

For  a  minute  Tim  hesitated,  doubting  whether  it  would  not 
perchance  be  wiser  to  consent  to  spy  on  the  house  and 
thereby  reserve  to  himself  the  power  of  warning  Tracy ;  if 
need  be,  the  chance  of  saving  him.  It  was  a  dirty  job,  this 
playing  for  both  sides,  but  perhaps  a  man  should  not  refuse 
to  soil  his  fingers  in  friendship's  need. 

He  wavered.    Mr.  Simpson  again  stepped  forward. 

"If  Mr.  Curtis  refuses,"  he  said  blandly,  "I  would  like 
to  remind  him  that  there  are — writs." 

Josiah  sprang  forward  to  silence  the  speaker,  but  it  was 
too  late;  he  had  said  enough  to  ruin  their  purpose.  The 
hint  of  threat,  the  suggestion  of  bribery  in  his  words  served 
to  confirm  Timothy  in  his  reluctance  to  accede  to  their  pro- 
posal. 

He  turned  from  the  window  and  crossing  the  room  took 
up  his  hat  and  whip  from  the  table. 

"Writs,  Mr.  Simpson,"  he  said  haughtily,  "I  think  not. 
Such  a  procedure  would  hardly  add  to  the  attraction  of 
your  rooms,  and  Wiltshire's  are  sufficiently  convenient.  I 
would  advise  you — and  you,  too,  Mr.  Mayor — before  you 
again  visit  a  gentleman  on  a  delicate  business  such  as  this 
to  give  some  further  study  to  matters  pertaining  to  a  gen- 
tleman's honour." 

Cogswell's  jaw  dropped  dolefully.  "Then  you  refuse  to 
help  us,  Mr.  Curtis?"  he  said. 

"I  do.  Further,  I  refuse  to  change  my  lodgings.  And 
finally,"  he  broke  out  sharply,  "if  I  find  you  or  yours 
haunting  my  rooms  or  tampering  with  my  servant,  by 
Heaven!  mayor  or  no  mayor,  I'll  have  ye  arrested  for  a 
common  housebreaker.  Now  you've  heard  my  mind  on 


THE  HOUSE  OP  THE  COIFFEUSE         63 

this  matter.  Be  off — and  whistle  up  your  hounds  if  you 
dare." 

Cogswell  and  Simpson  turned  sullenly  and  went  out,  but 
Josiah  paused  at  the  door. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "I  am  charged  with  a 
message  to  you — from  my  Lord  Pelham." 

Timothy  turned  and  faced  him.  He  drew  the  lash  of  his 
whip  slowly  through  his  fingers  and  smiled. 

"Mr.  Josiah  Smith,"  he  said  quietly,  "if  it  be,  as  I  surmise, 
a  repetition  of  a  former  proposal  I  received  from  his  lord- 
ship, I  would  advise  you  to  leave  that  message  undelivered. 
I  think  you  would  scarcely  relish  receiving  my  answer." 

Josiah  bowed  hurriedly,  and  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders 
followed  his  companions  out  of  the  room. 

Timothy  laughed  softly.  "A  prudent  messenger,"  he 
murmured,  "and  worthy  of  his  master.  Egad !  but  they  are 
awake  at  St.  James's.  I  must  warn  Tracy,  though  it  would 
seem  from  what  he  said  this  afternoon  that  he  guessed 
what's  afoot.  But  what  the  murrain  he  means  about  those 
papers  the  saints  only  know.  Plague  take  the  mayor,"  he 
muttered  angrily,  struggling  into  his  coat,  "what  the  devil 
does  he  mean  by  his  impertinence  ?  Writs,  writs  !"  he  grim- 
aced sourly;  "well,  let  them  come  to-morrow.  I  have  one 
more  night  to  dream.  And  now  to  Cornwallis's  gardens 
and — moonlight." 


CHAPTER    VI 

"MOONLIGHT" 

THE  night  was  dark,  scented,  full  of  mystery.  The  gar- 
dens at  Lord  Cornwallis's  house,  three  miles  from  Bath, 
were  brightly  illuminated,  and  the  majority  of  the  guests, 
escaping  from  the  hot  rooms,  wandered  to  and  fro  on  the 
terraced  walks,  listening  to  the  distant  strains  of  music  in 
the  ballroom,  and  idly  watching  the  summer  lightning 
play  across  the  southern  sky.  From  the  shadowed  groves 
in  the  garden  echoed  soft  whispers  and  the  low  murmur  of 
lovers'  talk,  and  ever  and  anon  the  hasty  rustle  of  silk  skirts 
and  a  subdued  laugh  of  triumph  bespoke  a  swain  too  con- 
fident or  a  nymph  too  coy. 

On  a  marble  seat  at  the  end  of  the  upper  terrace  sat  Celia 
Winnington,  her  friend  Lucy  de  Putren  beside  her,  her 
court  grouped  round  or  seated  on  the  low  stone  wall  of  the 
terrace  between  the  coloured  lights.  Behind  her  a  high 
box  hedge,  carved  into  the  likeness  of  a  pierced  heart,  shad- 
owed the  sky,  and  climbing  yellow  roses  trailed  across  the 
back  of  the  seat  and  nodded  their  scented  heads  over  her 
shining  curls.  It  was  a  merry  corner;  the  silent  witchery 
of  the  night  had  no  effect  upon  Miss  Celia's  following ;  they 
talked  and  laughed  gaily,  and  rivalled  one  another  in  the 
extravagance  of  their  gallantries  and  the  absurdities  of 
their  comparisons. 

David  Beringer,  who  by  a  far-sighted  diplomacy  had  ob- 
tained possession,  earlier  in  the  evening,  of  his  mistress's 
fan,  now  reaped  the  reward  of  his  forethought  in  a  post  at 


"MOONLIGHT"  65 

her  elbow,  where  he  lounged  gracefully,  wielding  his  cap- 
ture and  watching  the  dimples  come  and  go  round  the  small 
smiling  mouth.  Sir  Peter  Pemberton  sat  cross-legged 
at  her  feet,  his  youthful  ardour  heeding  neither 
the  inelegance  of  his  posture,  the  unevenness  of  the 
gravel,  nor  the  unpopularity  he  achieved  by  adopt- 
ing a  position  that  effectually  prevented  another's 
approach. 

"Gad !  what  a  night,"  murmured  Charles  Rathborne,  gaz- 
ing up  into  the  deep  azure  above  them.  "What  a  night  for 
dreams !" 

"Rather  a  night  for  blessed  realities,"  said  Marcus 
quietly ;  "what  dream  more  precious  than  the  present 
hour?" 

"We  should  'out-night'  each  other,  as  Will  Shakespeare 
has  it,"  said  Lucy  de  Putren,  laughing. 

"On  such  a  night  did  seven  fond  men,  I  fear, 
Sigh  for  the  moon,  who  sighs  for — no  man  here. 

What  think  you,  gentlemen,  of  my  first  essay  at  rhyming?" 

"I'll  cap  you  that,  madam,"  said  David  Beringer, 
smiling. 

"A  challenge?  What  says  your  muse?  Listen,  Celia,  and 
award  me  the  palm." 

David  Beringer  furled  the  fan  and  looked  down  thought- 
fully at  the  golden  head  below  him. 

"His  muse  deserts  him,"  laughed  Lord  Robert  Dacre ;  "she 
is  but  a  fickle  jade  and  Davie  was  ever  unlucky  with  the 
sex." 

"Hush !  hush !  he  has  it,"  cried  Lucy,  holding  up  her  hand 
for  silence. 


66  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

David  coughed  nervously  and  gave  out  his  lines : 

"On  such  a  night  a  man,  if  he  be  wise, 
Will  live  his  hour  and  risk  his  Paradise." 

"Bravo!     Davie,"  cried  Marcus.     "Bedad,  sage  advice." 

"I  protest  you're  profane,  Mr.  Beringer,"  cried  Lucy. 
"Celia,  what  say  you?  Is  not  his  verse  monstrous  im- 
moral?" 

"Give  us  your  own  version  of  the  night,  Miss  Winning- 
ton,"  pleaded  Charles  Rathborne,  leaning  toward  her.  "Is 
a  man  fond  to  sigh  for  the  moon,  or  should  he  risk  his  all 
boldly,  playing  for  the  highest  stake  ?" 

Celia  looked  up  into  the  dark  spaces  and  smiled  wisely. 

"I  am  no  versemaker,  Sir  Charles ;  my  lines  are  as  poor 
and  halting  as  a  lame  beggar,  but  I'll  do  my  best. 

"On  such  a  night  no  man  should  be  afraid 
To  give  his  all  for  naught  and  feel  repaid. 

That  is  my  reading  of  the  night's  council." 

"And,  by  Heaven!  a  worthy  one,"  cried  Lord  Robert. 
"What  say  you,  gentlemen,  should  not  we,  too,  follow  the 
night's  counsel,  and  asking  no  recompense,  save  to  rejoice 
in  her  beauty,  fearing  no  heart-ache  so  it  be  in  her  service, 
dedicate  our  homage  to — the  Moon  of  Bath  ?" 

"Bravo!"  cried  Roger  Lee,  and  Peter  Pemberton  added 
enthusiastically,  "A  toast  to  the  Moon  of  Bath." 

"My  hand  upon  it,"  said  Oliver  Shirley  softly. 

David  Beringer  and  Charles  Rathborne  met  Lord  Robert's 
glance  and  nodded  silently,  while  Marcus  laid  his  hand  on 
his  friend's  shoulder  in  token  of  agreement.  For  those  were 


"MOONLIGHT"  67 

days  when  a  man  did  not  shame  to  show  his  love  before  the 
world,  nor  grudged  to  offer  his  homage  lest  it  be  rebuffed. 

"Who  speaks  of  the  moon  on  a  night  as  dark  as  Erebus?" 
asked  a  deep  voice  out  of  the  darkness. 

"Tracy!  Where  have  you  been  wandering?"  cried  Celia. 
"Where  is  Laidie?" 

"With  Lady  Cornwallis,  at  commerce.  Her  ladyship 
caught  us  on  the  terrace  steps ;  Rory  and  I  fled  into  the 
lime  walk,  and  Laidie,  like  a  hero,  covered  our  retreat." 

"Poor  Laidie !    Tracy,  you  do  play  the  coward." 

Tracy  grimaced  humorously.  "But  commerce,  Celia, 
with  her  ladyship,  on  such  a  night  as  this  !  Sure,  even  your 
immovable  heart  would  not  condemn  me  to  such  a  fate." 

"Where  is  Rory  now?" 

"Rory  drew  quarry  in  the  lime  walk  and  vanished  in 
pursuit.  Lady  de  Putren,  who  wears  a  violet  gown  freckled 
with  gold  leaves?" 

Lucy  de  Putren  held  up  her  hands,  with  a  laugh  of  dis- 
may. "Lud !  is  Rory  on  that  track  ?  'Twill  lead  him  far 
afield." 

"Has  no  one  seen  Tim  Curtis  to-day?"  asked  Beringer. 
"I've  not  set  eyes  on  him  since  morning." 

"I  saw  him  two  hours  since,"  said  Tracy  carelessly.  He 
crossed  to  a  seat  beside  Lord  Robert.  "Bob,"  he  said, 
under  his  breath,  "I  must  speak  to  you  alone." 

"You  saw  him.  He's  whole-limbed  and  yet  not  here  to- 
night!" cried  Marcus.  "Was  the  man  sane?" 

"Moonstruck,  belike,"  said  Lord  Robert. 

"Lud!  we  are  all  that  here,"  laughed  Lucy.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  seat,  her  lips  close  to  Celia's  ears,  and  murmured 
softly,  "  'Sigh  for  the  moon,  who  sighs  for — no  man  here.' 
Where  is  he,  my  dear,  this  laggard?" 


68  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Suddenly  from  behind  the  high  hedge  at  the  back  of 
Celia's  seat  stole  the  sweet  strains  of  violins,  and  a  rich 
baritone  voice  broke  softly  into  song : 

"Though  stars  shine  bright  in  heaven's  fair  field, 

Our  sovereign  lady  of  the  night 
No  whit  supremacy  doth  yield 
Though  stars  shine  bright. 

"Ah !  Mistress  mine,  her  counterpart, 

No  earthly  charms  compare  with  thine, 
For  as  the  moon  to  stars  thou  art, 
Ah !  Mistress  mine ! 

"Dear  Moon  of  Love,  my  heart's  delight, 

The  baser  moon  sails  clear  above ; 
Withhold  not  thou  thy  fairer  light, 
Dear  Moon  of  Love." 

The  song  ceased,  the  music  died  away.  A  round  of  ap- 
plause broke  the  stillness  and  echoed  through  the  gardens. 

"It's  that  vagabond,  Rory,"  said  Charles  Rathborne,  peer- 
ing vainly  through  the  bushes. 

Lucy  de  Putren  laughed  and  shook  her  head  as  she  looked 
at  Celia's  flushed  face.  What  sister's  face  would  blush  at 
sound  of  a  brother's  singing? 

"Talk  of  the  devil!  it's  Tim  himself,"  said  Marcus, 
nodding  toward  the  arch  in  the  hedge  where  Timothy  Cur- 
tis appeared,  his  white  brocade  gleaming  in  the  darkness. 

"Pouring  forth  music  from  a  pierced  heart,"  cried  Lucy, 
pointing  to  the  device  above  their  heads.  "Lud !  I'm  mon- 
strous in  the  vein  for  poesy  to-night,  but  'tis  mightily 
wasted  on  moonstruck  wits.  Mr.  Beringer,"  she  con- 


"MOONLIGHT"  69 

tinued,  rising,  "lead  me  to  the  supper-room.  We  will  ply 
our  muse  in  more  appreciative  company.  Sir  Oliver,  will 
you  not  with  us?" 

David  Beringer  reluctantly  furled  Celia's  fan.  A  hand 
shot  out  over  his  shoulder  and  took  it  from  his  grasp. 
With  a  melancholy  shrug,  he  yielded  his  place  to  Timothy 
and  followed  Lucy  de  Putren  and  Oliver  along  the  terrace. 

Tracy  rose  with  white,  set  lips.  He  had  watched  Celia's 
face  during  the  song;  he  had  noted  the  blush  on  her 
cheeks  when  Timothy  drew  near;  his  heart  was  sore  for 
her. 

"Bob,"  he  said  brusquely,  "  'tis  time  we  lent  Adelaide 
a  pretence  to  escape.  Come  with  me  and  effect  a  rescue." 

As  he  passed  his  sister  he  looked  down  once  more  on  her 
happy  face  and  shining  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  muttered,  "I  will  save  his  honour  yet,  for  her 
sake." 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  company ;  a  heavy  silence  fraught 
with  embarrassment,  rich  with  the  consciousness  that  all 
present  pined  to  speak  words  meet  to  be  heard  by  one  ear 
alone.  At  last  Marcus  gave  a  quick  sigh  and  rose  briskly 
to  his  feet.  He  crossed  to  where  Charles  Rathborne  and 
Roger  Lee  stood  together,  and  slipping  a  hand  through 
either  arm  wheeled  them  round  to  face  the  terrace. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  drily,  "supper." 

Their  retreating  footsteps  echoed  along  the  walk. 

Timothy  looked  down  upon  the  lonely  figure  of  the  youth- 
ful Sir  Peter,  still  resolutely  ensconced  at  his  mistress's  feet. 
He  drew  out  his  quizzing  glass  and  inspected  him  thought- 
fully, a  whimsical  smile  on  his  lips.  But  his  banter  was  lost 
upon  Peter.  With  a  magnificent  impudence  Tim  drew  out 
his  purse. 


70  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Peter,"  he  drawled,  "I  forgot  to  pay  the  musicianers. 
Find  them,  there's  a  good  fellow,  and  give  them  their  due." 
So  saying,  he  dropped  his  purse  into  the  youth's  hand. 

Peter  gasped.  He  looked  down  at  the  purse,  he  looked  up 
at  the  calmly  smiling  face  of  Timothy ;  he  looked  despair- 
ingly at  Celia's  lowered  lashes.  With  a  muttered  exclama- 
tion he  struggled  awkwardly  to  his  feet  and  throwing  a  last 
angry  glance  at  Timothy,  disappeared  in  the  darkness  be- 
hind the  shadowy  hedge. 

Again  a  stillness  fell  upon  the  terrace.  Most  of  the 
guests  had  retreated  into  the  house  for  supper,  the  gardens 
were  quieter,  only  a  soft  whisper  of  voices  stole  from  the 
dusky  groves.  Here  and  there  a  lantern  flickered  and  went 
out.  The  heavy-scented  roses  nodded  their  heads  gravely  in 
the  silence,  and  far  in  the  east  a  bank  of  silver-tipped 
clouds  bespoke  the  rising  of  the  moon. 

Timothy  stood  immovable  beside  the  marble  bench,  look- 
ing down  on  Celia's  bent  head  and  averted  face.  He  did 
not  speak,  he  only  looked  at  her  with  all  his  soul  in  his  eyes 
and  waited  for  an  answering  glance.  She  was  fully  con- 
scious of  his  desire,  and  for  a  time  fought  his  will. 
Her  face  grew  rosy,  her  white  hands  clasped  and  unclasped 
themselves  upon  her  knee;  her  lips  trembled  into  a  smile. 
Still  he  waited  in  silence.  Suddenly  her  resolution  failed. 
She  gave  a  little  sigh  of  surrender,  and,  turning,  lifted  her 
eyes  to  his.  For  one  long  minute  they  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  in  silence,  then  with  a  shy  smile,  half  deprecat- 
ing her  surrender,  she  turned  away. 

Timothy  slipped  into  a  seat  on  the  bench  beside  her. 

"Madam,"  he  whispered  softly,  "now,  indeed,  has  the 
moon  risen  for  me." 

She  made  no  answer  to  his  gallantry.    "You  are  late,  Mr. 


"MOONLIGHT"  71 

Curtis,"  she  said  coldly.  "Many  deemed  you  had  found 
more  attractive  company  elsewhere." 

"What  nonsense!  'Twere  but  reasonable  I  had  been 
earlier,  had  it  been  possible.  And  you,  madam?  Did  you, 
too,  think  I  should  fail  you?" 

Her  little  pretence  at  anger  vanished.  She  looked  up 
with  a  frank  smile. 

"No,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  honestly.  "I  knew  that  you 
would  come." 

Timothy  looked  into  her  honest  eyes  and  drew  in  his 
breath  quickly. 

"You  knew?  You  awaited  my  coming?"  he  cried  eagerly. 
"Madam — is  it  possible — you  wished  for  it?" 

For  a  second  she  hesitated,  then  she  gave  a  little  helpless 
laugh.  "Yes,"  she  said  simply.  "I  wished  for  you." 

Timothy  drew  nearer;  his  voice  shook  with  eager- 
ness. 

"I  am  poor,"  he  said.  "And  I  have  lived  the  life  of  my 
class.  I've  no  right  to  woo  any  woman — least  of  all  women 
you.  But — ah !  Mistress  Celia,  since  that  morning  I  met 
you  by  the  river,  since  that  hour  you  taught  me  the  mean- 
ing of  life,  I  have  loved  you  with  all  my  soul.  It's  no  pearl 
of  price  I  offer  you,  only  an  uncut  stone,  but,  by  Heaven ! 
in  your  keeping  I'd  carve  it  to  a  setting  worthy  of  your 
life." 

He  put  his  hand  reverently  on  the  folds  of  her  gown,  and 
leaned  nearer,  trying  to  see  her  face. 

"I  never  hoped  to  tell  you  this,"  he  continued  softly.  "It 
was  enough  for  me  to  give  you  my  love,  asking  nothing. 
But  these  last  two  days,  madam,  there  has  come  to  me  a  cer- 
tain dream,  a  dream  of  madness,  and  I  have  come  here  to- 
night to  tell  it  to  you." 


72  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

She  lifted  her  head  and  faced  him.  "What  is  your 
dream?"  she  asked  gently. 

He  bent  one  knee  to  the  ground  and  placed  his  hand  softly 
upon  the  white  hands  lying  on  her  lap. 

"Mistress  Celia,  they  call  you  the  Moon  of  Bath — the 
still  cold  moon  floating  so  far  above  us  in  the  heavens  of 
her  purity,  that  she  reigns  untouched  by  man's  desires. 
But  I  have  dreamed  that  on  a  certain  night,  dark,  silent, 
like  to-night,  as  I  sat  alone  watching  the  face  of  my  moon 
in  worship,  she  stooped  and  came  down  from  her  throne  in 
the  heavens — down  to  my  side.  And  as  I  looked,  half 
dazzled  by  that  glory,  it  seemed  to  me  her  face — that  cold, 
still  face  we  fear  e'en  while  we  worship — was  changed  to  me, 
and  all  the  glow  and  all  the  beauty  and  all  the  radiance 
was  warm  with  the  fire  of  love.  Ah!  madam,  it  may  be 
that  I  was  blinded  and  saw  but  what  my  heart  desired,  and 
yet  I  think  'twas  even  as  I  saw." 

She  sat  silent,  with  lowered  head.  His  heart  gave  a  little 
throb  of  fear. 

"Madam,"  he  said  quickly,  "if  I  have  dreamed  too 
boldly  forgive  me.  Remember,  'twas  you  who  bade  me  dare 
to  dream." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and  they  were  bright  with  tears. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  gravely,  "I  thank  you.  And  were 
I  indeed  the  moon  in  heaven,  methinks  your  love  would  draw 
me  down  to  earth.  But — I  am  but  a  woman,  sir,  and  I  have 
but  known  you  ten  short  days — and " 

"You  fear  me,  madam?" 

"Ah!  do  not  think  me  faint-hearted,"  she  cried 
quickly.  "But — I  do  not  know — I  would  not  be  hur- 
ried  " 

"Dear  heart!"  he  breathed  gently,  "it  should  be  enough 


"MOONLIGHT"  73 

for  me  that  I  am  permitted  to  tell  my  love.  I  will  ask  no 
more — as  yet." 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  a  little  gesture  of  gratitude. 

"I  am  cowardly,"  she  said,  smiling.  "But — with  a  woman 
it  is  once  and  forever." 

"And  with  a  man,  too,  madam." 

"It  may  be,"  she  said,  smiling  a  little  wistfully.  "But  a 
man  does  not  give  his  all." 

Timothy  shook  his  head  with  a  smile,  but  made  no  answer. 

She  lifted  her  hands  and  clasped  them  eagerly  together. 

"You — you  do  not  blame  me  for  my  doubt?"  she  asked 
anxiously. 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  smile  of  tenderness. 

"Madam,"  he  said  gravely,  "I  count  myself  blessed  indeed 
for  the  hope  that  you  have  given  me.  From  to-night  you 
know  that  my  life  is  at  your  service,  and  for  the  rest  I  will 
await  your  pleasure."  He  stood  a  moment,  thinking,  then 
he  detached  a  seal  from  his  fob  and  continued  earnestly :  "I 
will  not  weary  you,  Mistress  Celia,  with  a  repetition  of  my 
dreams,  but  if  the  day  should  dawn  when  you  can  give  me 
an  answer,  will  you  send  me  this  token  as  sign  that  I  may 
speak  again?" 

She  took  the  seal  with  a  little  nod  and  smile  of  gratitude. 

"I  owe  you  thanks  for  this  courtesy,"  she  said  simply. 

She  rose,  and  together  they  walked  along  the  terrace. 
Suddenly  she  stopped  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"No,"  she  said,  "it  is  not  just  that  I  should  accept  your 
service,  seeing  it  may  chance  that  I  can  make  no  return." 

He  threw  up  his  head  and  laughed  joyously.  "It  is  my 
own  choice,  madam.  I  am  well  content." 

But  she  shook  her  head,  dissatisfied. 

"No,  it  is  not  just."     Gravely  she  unfastened  the  heavy 


74.  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

gold  bracelet  she  wore  on  her  wrist  and  handed  it  to  him. 
"The  world  holds  many  women  more  worthy  than  I,"  she 
said  softly.  "If  you  should — should  meet  one,  send  this 
jewel  back  to  me,  and  I  shall  understand." 

He  toot  it  with  a  soft  laugh  of  amusement. 

"Do  you  deem  it  possible  that  I  could  so  change,  Mistress 
Celia?"  he  asked,  stooping  and  looking  into  her  eyes. 

She  lowered  her  lashes  with  a  bright  blush.  A  smile 
played  about  her  lips. 

"In  truth,"  she  said  softly,  "I  am  woman  enough  to 
hope  it  may  not  be  so." 

He  stood  aside  while  she  entered  the  windows  of  the  ball- 
room. A  shooting  star  swept  across  the  horizon.  He 
looked  at  it  with  a  rueful  smile. 

"An  evil  omen,"  he  muttered ;  "it  falls  from  heaven !  Yet 
better  a  falling  star  than  one  who  has  never  neared  the 
heavens ;  it  has  at  least  the  glory  of  remembrance." 

He  followed  Celia  into  the  ballroom,  but  Adelaide  was  al- 
ready hurrying  her  away  to  take  her  leave. 

"The  coach  is  waiting,  Celie,  and  I  am  wearied  to  death. 
Tracy  is  returning  with  Lord  Robert  later.  Come  quickly, 
child." 

With  a  last  nod  and  smile,  Celia  vanished  after  her 
sister,  who  had  not  vouchsafed  a  look  in  Timothy's 
direction. 

Most  of  the  guests  had  already  taken  their  departure. 
Through  the  door  of  the  supper-room  Timothy  noted  a 
group  of  men  standing  by  one  of  the  tables,  indulging  in  a 
last  stirrup  cup.  Tracy,  Lord  Robert,  and  Davie  Beringer 
were  among  them.  All  Timothy's  world  was  rose-colour 
that  evening.  With  an  almost  boyish  longing  to  share  his 
happiness,  to  find  an  outlet  for  his  soaring  spirits,  he 


"MOONLIGHT"  75 

crossed  the  room  to  join  them,  and  striding  up  to  the  group, 
flung  his  arm  lightly  across  Tracy's  shoulder. 

"Well,  Tracy,  old  man,"  he  cried  joyously,  "have  you 
found  your  wits  again?  Come  back  with  me  to  my  lodging 
and  we'll  have  a  hot  night  together.  Lady  Wimbourne 
will  forgive  for  once.  'Tis  the  first  night  we've  had 
your  company  for  six  weeks,  and,  begad!  we've  missed 
you." 

Tracy's  face  grew  suddenly  white.  He  drew  back  from 
the  encircling  arm  and  swung  round  on  his  heel. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said  shortly,  "you  are  a  contemptible 
thief." 

A  low  mutter  of  amazement  stirred  the  group  of  men. 
Timothy  fell  back  a  step  and  stared  at  Tracy  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

"I  repeat,  Mr.  Curtis,"  continued  Tracy  doggedly,  "you 
are  a  thief  and  unworthy  the  company  of  honourable 
gentlemen." 

Timothy  sank  back  against  the  table,  shaking  his  head. 
"Still  crazy,"  he  muttered,  in  humorous  bewilderment. 

"What  the  murrain's  taken  you,  Tracy?"  cried  Oliver 
Shirley,  laying  a  detaining  hand  on  his  arm. 

Tracy  shook  him  off  and  advanced  a  step  toward  Tim. 

"Do  I  make  myself  sufficiently  plain?"  he  asked  shortly. 

"But — but — demme!  I  can't  fight  you,  Tracy,"  gasped 
Tim  desperately. 

"Must  I  then  add  'coward'  to  your  name?"  asked  Tracy 
insolently. 

Timothy's  eyes  gleamed.  Then  he  looked  at  Tracy  and 
wavered.  "Plague  take  you !"  he  muttered  testily.  "How 
can  I  fight  a  man  who  has  only  one  leg  to  stand  on?" 

"There  are  pistols,  Mr.  Curtis." 


76  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Pistols!  Yes.  But  pistols  are  so  demmed  risky," 
muttered  Timothy. 

A  titter  of  laughter  broke  from  the  men.  Tim  turned  on 
them  angrily.  "I  don't  want  to  kill  the  fool,"  he  said 
testily. 

"I  am  grateful  for  your  mercy,  Mr.  Curtis,"  said  Tracy 
with  a  sneer.  "If  you  are,  as  I  surmise,  equally  anxious 
for  your  own  skin,  shall  we  consider  that  —  the  name 
sticks?" 

"By  gad!"  cried  Tim  furiously,  starting  to  his  feet. 
Then  his  eyes  softened  suddenly  with  remembrance. 
"Tracy!"  he  said  winningly,  holding  out  his  hand. 

For  answer  Tracy  flung  the  contents  of  his  glass  in  the 
other's  face,  and  turning  away,  sank  into  a  chair. 

Timothy  fell  back  choked  and  gasping,  with  an  oath  of 
fury.  Then  he  wiped  his  eyes,  smoothed  his  ruffles,  and 
looked  round  the  group  with  hard  set  mouth. 

"It  is  enough,"  he  said  shortly.  "You'll  act  for  me, 
Bob?" 

Lord  Robert  stepped  back.  "You  will  excuse  me,  Mr. 
Curtis,"  he  said  stiffly. 

Timothy  stared  at  him.  "Egad,  sir,"  he  said  sharply, 
"such  a  refusal  bespeaks  agreement  with  Sir  Tracy.  I 
deem  it  an  insult,  my  lord." 

Lord  Robert  bowed  and  turned  away.  Timothy  looked 
across  at  Charles  Rathborne. 

"Charlie?"  he  said  questioningly. 

Charles  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  shook  his  head. 

For  a  moment  Tim's  eyes  gleamed  dangerously.  He  put 
up  his  quizzing  glass  and  surveyed  the  silent  group  of  men. 

"My  faith !"  he  said  slowly.  "It  seems  I'm  like  to  have  a 
busy  morning." 


"MOONLIGHT"  77 

David  Beringer  crossed  to  his  side.  "I'll  stand  your 
friend,  Tim,"  he  said  quietly. 

Timothy  laid  his  hand  gratefully  on  his  shoulder. 

"Thanks,  Davie,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  leave  the  affair  in 
your  hands.  Perhaps,"  he  added,  stroking  his  chin  and 
coolly  indicating  the  group  of  men  with  his  quizzing  glass 
— "perhaps  you  will  kindly  arrange  meetings  for  me  with 
the  remainder  of  these  gentlemen  during  the  course  of  the 
coming  week." 

With  a  lazy  smile  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  out  of 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  VII 

"A  SIGH  IN  THE  DARK" 

THOUGH  barely  eleven  o'clock,  Timothy  rode  soberly  home, 
and  leaving  his  horse  at  the  Mews  (for  Simon,  not  expect- 
ing so  unwontedly  early  a  return,  was  not  in  attendance), 
climbed  the  dark  stairway  to  his  room. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  stair  he  noted  a  light  shin- 
ing through  the  crack  of  the  door,  and  he  muttered  a  curse 
at  his  man's  carelessness  in  leaving  candles  alight  in 
an  unoccupied  apartment.  A  moment  later  a  louder  ex- 
clamation followed,  for  in  the  darkness  of  the  passage  he 
stumbled  over  a  chair  and  lurched  heavily  against  his  door, 
bursting  it  open.  At  the  same  moment  the  light  inside 
was  extinguished,  leaving  all  in  darkness  save  for  the  faint 
glimmer  that  entered  between  the  window  curtains. 

Timothy  paused  in  surprise  and  peered  suspiciously 
through  the  gloom.  Then  attributing  the  sudden  extinc- 
tion of  the  light  to  the  draught  from  the  opened  door,  he 
shut  it,  and  striding  across  to  the  window  pulled  aside  the 
curtains. 

Not  much  light  entered:  the  night  had  clouded  over; 
neither  moon  nor  stars  were  visible.  Without  troubling  to 
relight  the  candles,  Timothy  flung  himself  back  into  his 
chair  and  stared  out  into  the  darkness. 

The  events  of  the  evening  had  given  him  much  food  for 
thought.  It  was  evident  to  him  that  Tracy  had  learned  by 
some  means  of  Lord  Pelham's  proposal  that  he  should  play 
the  spy  upon  the  Jacobites  of  his  acquaintance ;  but  that  he 
should  have  believed  him  capable  of  accepting  the  proffered 


"A  SIGH  IN  THE  DARK"  79 

bribe  appeared  to  Tim  alike  such  unreasonable  and  such 
disloyal  conduct  toward  a  comrade  that  his  anger  stifled  his 
affection,  and  he  hardened  his  heart  at  the  thought  of  the 
duel  on  the  morrow  and  crushed  out  the  last  shred  of  reluc- 
tance to  fight  his  whilom  friend.  With  regard  to  Lord 
Robert  and  Charles  Rathborne,  his  anger  at  their  behaviour 
knew  no  bounds. 

"They  shall  answer  for  it,  by  heaven!  I'll  let  no  man 
browbeat  me,"  he  muttered. 

Presently  softer  thoughts  stole  in  upon  his  anger.  He 
drew  out  the  bracelet  Celia  had  given  him,  and  pressing 
it  to  his  lips,  gave  himself  up  to  dreams  of  happiness.  He 
gave  small  thought  to  what  she  might  say  about  this  duel 
with  her  brother-in-law ;  that  was  Tracy's  affair.  He  dwelt 
only  upon  her  gentleness  to  him  that  evening,  upon  the  un- 
expected hope  she  had  given  him,  upon  the  unfailing  look 
of  trust  and  kindness  in  her  glance.  His  eyes  softened,  his 
hard-set  lips  relaxed  into  a  smile  of  rare  tenderness  as  he 
pictured  her  youth  and  innocence,  her  faith  in  all  things 
beautiful  and  true. 

"And  two  weeks  since  I  was  willing  to  wed  at  command ! 
Gad!  what  a  blind  fool  a  man  can  be  till  love  gives  him 
light.  Ah !  Dame  Diana,  I  owe  you  many  thanks  for  the 
wisdom  you  taught  me;  small  wonder  that  I  worship  your 
counterpart  on  earth." 

Presently  the  clouds  broke ;  a  heavy  shower  darkened  the 
night,  the  fierce  rain  splashing  noisily  on  the  hard,  cobbled 
street.  He  sat  up  with  a  shrug. 

"It  will  be  plaguy  slippery  to-morrow,"  he  muttered. 
"It's  lucky  we  fight  with  pistols.  Where  has  that  rascal 
put  them,  I  wonder?  Best  light  up  and  find  them." 

He  rose  and  groped  his  way  to  the  bureau  in  the  corner 


80  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

to  search  for  his  tinder-box.  To  his  surprise,  instead  of 
the  smooth  lid  of  the  desk,  his  fingers  encountered  papers 
and  books ;  it  was  evident  the  bureau  was  open. 

"Zounds !"  he  muttered  angrily,  "who  has  been  meddling 
here?" 

A  sudden  quick  intake  of  breath,  the  short  gasping  sob 
of  fear,  sounded  close  to  his  elbow.  He  stopped  with  hand 
arrested,  with  head  turned,  peering  through  the  darkness, 
straining  his  ears  for  a  repetition  of  the  sound. 

There  was  a  deadly  stillness  in  the  room.  But  Timothy 
knew  he  had  not  been  mistaken ;  some  one  was  hiding  in  the 
room  in  the  narrow  space  between  the  bureau  and  the  wall, 
some  one  who  had  opened  his  desk,  some  one  who  had 
extinguished  the  light  so  suddenly  on  his  unexpected 
entrance. 

Timothy  shuffled  rapidly  among  his  papers  and  found  his 
tinder-box,  but  he  did  not  at  once  strike  a  light.  Instead 
he  walked  slowly  back  to  the  table,  placed  the  box  beside 
the  candle,  and  dragging  a  chair  between  the  bureau  and 
the  door  flung  himself  back  into  it  with  a  well-simulated 
yawn. 

He  yawned  again,  twice,  thrice,  each  time  with  less  vigour. 

Presently  he  began  to  breathe  with  the  heaviness  and 
regularity  of  a  sleeper. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  little  fluttering 
sigh  of  relief  and  the  faint  rustle  of  a  silken  skirt.  This 
latter  sound  so  startled  Timothy  that  for  a  moment  he 
forgot  to  snore  and  the  sound  ceased  abruptly. 

"Dem  it!"  he  muttered,  "it's  a  woman." 

He  stirred  and  turned  in  his  chair,  and  presently  resumed 
his  heavy  breathing.  The  rustle  of  the  skirt  was  heard 
again,  nearer  to  him  now — evidently  the  owner  of  it  was 


«A  SIGH  IN  THE  DARK"  81 

crossing  the  room  to  his  side.  He  shut  his  eyes  and  waited. 
Another  moment  and  he  knew  she  was  standing  over  him, 
peering  down  at  him  through  the  darkness. 

It  was  an  eerie  feeling.  Timothy's  heart  beat  quickly, 
wondering  what  was  to  come,  but  he  made  no  sign. 

Then  soft  hands  began  to  move  about  him,  a  light  flutter- 
ing touch,  stealing  inside  his  coat,  groping  for  the  pocket 
in  his  waistcoat.  He  waited  immovable  until  the  fingers 
were  touching  the  silken  pocket-book  he  carried;  then  sud- 
denly he  threw  up  his  hands  and  grasped  the  two  slight 
wrists  in  a  grip  of  iron. 

"Got  you !"  he  cried  gaily. 

The  woman  gave  a  sharp  gasp  of  terror  and  for  a  mo- 
ment stood  rigid  in  his  grasp.  Then  she  began  to  struggle 
frantically,  twisting  wildly  to  free  herself  from  his  hold. 
Timothy  laughed  softly.  Cautiously  he  brought  the  two 
wrists  together  until  he  could  encircle  both  with  one  hand. 
Then  he  reached  out  for  his  tinder-box. 

"Now  let  me  have  a  look  at  you,  my  beauty,"  he  said 
grimly. 

The  woman  gave  a  short,  hard  sob  and  struggled  more 
wildly  than  ever,  pulling  at  his  arm,  but  his  fingers  were 
like  iron  bands ;  she  was  helpless  in  his  grasp. 

"Be  still,  you  little  tiger-cat,"  he  muttered;  "be  still  or 
you'll  hurt  yourself." 

Slowly  and  with  difficulty,  while  she  struggled  and 
wrenched  at  his  arm,  he  kindled  the  spark  and  lit  a  candle ; 
then  he  turned  to  face  her.  With  a  sharp  cry  he  dropped 
her  wrists  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  overturning  his  chair. 

"Lady  Wimbourne !"  he  gasped ;  "Lady  Wimbourne !" 

Adelaide  stood  before  him  with  bowed  head.  Her  face 
and  neck  were  crimson;  she  breathed  in  quick  frightened 


82 

gasps ;  the  ruffle  at  her  sleeve  was  torn.  For  a  full  minute 
Timothy  stared  at  her  in  silence,  his  eyes  hard,  a  look  of 
anger  and  contempt  on  his  face. 

Slowly  she  lifted  her  head  and  faced  him. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  faintly,  "Mr.  Curtis,  I—"  Then 
she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  broke  into  bitter 
weeping. 

Timothy  was  very  tender-hearted.  The  anger  died  out 
of  his  eyes  at  the  sound  of  her  helpless  sobs.  He  crossed 
to  her  side  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Ah !  don't  cry,  madam,"  he  said  gently ;  "you  have  noth- 
ing to  fear.  'Tis  I  who  must  apologise  for  so  mishandling 
you.  But  how  could  I  dream — !  Ton  my  soul,  madam, 
I'm  sorry  for  you.  Come,  sit  down  here  and  tell  me  what 
it  is  you  came  to  seek." 

She  sank  obediently  into  the  chair  he  placed  for  her,  and 
struggled  to  control  her  sobs.  Tim  poured  out  a  glass 
of  water  from  the  carafe  on  the  table  and  brought  it  to 
her.  She  took  it  gratefully,  and  presently  her  weeping 
quieted  and  she  drew  out  her  kerchief  and  dried  her  eyes. 
Timothy  gave  a  sigh  of  relief;  he  had  dreaded  an  attack 
of  hysterics. 

He  took  a  seat  on  the  edge  of  the  table  beside  her  and 
stared  down  at  her  in  bewildered  pity. 

"Now,  madam,"  he  said  gently,  "what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

She  turned  to  him  with  outstretched  hands,  with  pitiful 
pleading  face. 

"Ah!  have  pity,  have  pity,"  she  cried.     "Spare  Tracy." 

"Madam!"  he  stammered.  His  thoughts  flew  instantly 
to  the  duel.  "How  the  plague  do  women  hear  about  these 
things?"  he  muttered  testily. 

But  Adelaide  knew  nothing  of  the  scene  in  the  supper- 


"A  SIGH  IN  THE  DARK"  83 

room;  her  thoughts  were  centred  round  the  dreaded  be- 
trayal of  her  husband's  conspiracy.  So  they  talked  at 
cross  purposes,  neither  fully  comprehending  the  other's 
words. 

"Ah!"  she  pleaded,  "you  are  his  friend.  Surely — surely 
you  would  not  bring  his  death  upon  him." 

"His  death !  Why,  madam,  how  know  you  it  means  his 
death?  That's  plaguy  uncertain,"  he  added  with  a  grim 
laugh. 

"Ah!  sir,  certain  or  only  possible,  what  is  that  to  a  dis- 
tracted wife?"  she  cried  desperately.  "I  think  only  of  the 
danger.  You  cannot  deny  the  danger." 

Timothy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  appeared  his  share 
of  the  risk  was  not  to  be  considered. 

"Whatever  danger  Tracy  is  in,  he  has  brought  it  on 
himself,"  he  said  shortly,  "I  bore  him  no  ill-will." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  she  said  eagerly;  "he  has  been  reck- 
less— foolish.  But  you  should  be  the  last  to  blame  him — 
you  who  know  him  so  well,  you  who  understand  his 
opinions " 

"Plague  take  me  if  I  do  understand  his  opinions  at  all, 
madam,"  he  answered  angrily.  "I  write  him  down  clean 
crazed." 

She  beat  her  hands  together  desperately,  seeking  argu- 
ments by  which  to  move  him. 

"Ah !  think,  think,"  she  pleaded ;  "remember  what  you  and 
Tracy  have  been  to  one  another.  Why,  times  have  been 
when  I  have  been  jealous  of  you — I,  because  Tracy  gave 
you  so  much  of  his  heart.  And  even  yet  he  loves  you.  In 
spite  of  all  he  would  have  saved  you,  his  friend." 

"Monstrous  queer  notion  of  showing  friendship,"  mut- 
tered Tim  between  his  teeth.    He  stared  down  at  her  for  a 


84  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

minute  in  gloomy  silence.  "Look  you,  madam,"  he  broke 
out  at  last,  "  'tis  to  Tracy  you  should  plead.  If  he  will 
retract  I'll  be  only  too  thankful  to — 

Her  eyes  gleamed  angrily.  "Retract !"  she  cried  scorn- 
fully. "You  know  Tracy.  Do  you  dream  that  any  dangers, 
any  entreaties  would  induce  him  to  retract  ?  No ;  it  lies 
with  you  and  with  you  only  to  save  him.  Ah !  Mr.  Curtis, 
have  pity.  If  not  for  Tracy's  sake,  then  for  mine ;  for — 
for  Celia's  sake.  She  loves  him  so." 

Timothy  flushed.  "But,  Lady  Wimbourne,"  he  argued, 
"you  don't  understand.  In  affairs  of  this  sort  a  gentleman 
cannot  go  back  on  his  engagements." 

"A  gentleman !"  she  cried  with  a  scornful  inflection  on  the 
word.  Then  she  stopped  and  bit  her  lip.  "No,  no !"  she 
cried ;  "I  did  not  mean  that ;  I  have  no  right  to  judge  you — 
after  to-night.  I  can  only  beg  you  to  have  pity.  For  the 
others  I  ask  nothing;  do  to  them  as  you  will" — she  shud- 
dered as  she  spoke — "but  for  Tracy — ah!  be  pitiful.  On 
my  knees  I  beg  you  to  spare  him." 

She  sank  on  to  her  knees  before  him  and  seized  his  hand 
in  hers.  Timothy  flushed  darkly  and  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  madam!"  he  cried,  "be  reasonable. 
Why,  plague  take  me,  here's  a  fuss  over  a  trifle." 

She  looked  at  him  with  deep  reproach.  "A  trifle!  Mr. 
Curtis,  do  you  deem  Tracy's  life  a  trifle  to  me  ?  Ah !  I 
think  you  should  know  a  little  what  it  is  to  love.  By  your 
love,  by  your  devotion  to  her  you  love,  I  adjure  you,  be 
pitiful." 

He  looked  at  her  gloomily.  "You  don't  understand  what 
you  are  asking  of  me,  madam,"  he  said  slowly ;  "but  there, 
I  can't  refuse  you.  It  shall  be  as  you  wish.  I'll — spare 


"A  SIGH  IN  THE  DARK"  85 

Tracy."  He  spoke  the  last  words  with  a  half- 
mocking  grimace  and  held  out  his  hand  with  a 
smile. 

For  a  second  she  hesitated,  then  she  placed  her  hand  in 
his  outstretched  palm.  "Whatever  you  may  be  to  others, 
Mr.  Curtis,  to-night  at  least  you  have  played  the  man  of 
honour." 

Tim  lifted  his  eyebrows  whimsically. 

"It  would  seem  your  ladyship  has  the  plaguiest  ill-notion 
of  my  character,"  he  said. 

She  eyed  him  scornfully.  "Is  that  to  be  wondered  at? 
There  are  certain  codes  of  honour,  Mr.  Curtis,  of  which  even 
we  women  cannot  forgive  the  breach." 

Tim  lost  his  temper.  "Then  may  I  ask,  madam,  what  hon- 
ourable occupation  you  were  engaged  upon  when  I  inter- 
rupted you  this  evening?" 

She  started  back  as  though  he  had  struck  her,  her  face 
flushed  crimson. 

"Ah !  don't  ask  me,"  she  moaned.  "I  was  mad.  But  it  was 
for  Tracy's  sake.  And  for  his  sake  I  would  risk — even  my 
honour.  Ah !  I  love  him  so." 

Timothy  relented.  "There,  there,  madam,"  he  said  gently, 
"we'll  sink  the  matter.  And  now  I  must  take  you  home. 
It's  too  late  for  you  to  be  about." 

But  even  as  he  spoke  voices  broke  the  stillness  below; 
heavy  footsteps  were  heard  ascending  the  stair. 

Timothy  was  across  the  room  in  a  second  and  bolted  the 
door. 

"It's  Beringer,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "come  to  tell  me  what 
has  been  arranged  for  to-morrow.  They  mustn't  see  you, 
madam.  Will  you  wait  in  the  inner  room  till  I  am  rid  of 
them?" 


86  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Adelaide  hesitated.  "Cannot  I  go  out  by  another  door?" 
she  asked. 

"There  is  none.  Quick,  madam,"  he  added  as  a  heavy 
knock  resounded  on  the  door  and  the  handle  was  violently 
rattled. 

She  followed  him  into  the  inner  room.  He  placed  a  chair 
for  her  at  the  far  side  of  the  apartment. 

"You'll  understand,  madam,"  he  said,  smiling,  "those 
rascals  won't  know  of  your  presence,  and  maybe  the 
tone  of  the  conversation  won't  be  suited  to  your 
ears." 

She  flushed.  "Rest  assured,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  with  a 
faint  smile,  "I  will  not  listen  at  the  door." 

Timothy  threw  a  rapid  glance  round  the  outer  apartment 
to  assure  himself  that  no  trace  of  her  presence  remained. 
Then  he  crossed  to  the  outer  door  and  flung  it  open  with  a 
yawn.  David  Beringer  entered  quickly,  followed  by  Roger 
Lee,  a  tall,  dark,  impulsive  man  with  bad-tempered  lines 
round  his  mouth.  They  were  drenched  with  rain,  muddy  to 
the  knees,  and  both  wore  an  air  of  resolute  and  unflinching 
cheerfulness. 

"Gad!  Tim,  how  you  sleep,"  cried  Beringer,  flinging  off 
his  coat.  "We've  knocked  loud  enough  to  wake  the  stiffs 
down  in  the  Abbey  yonder.  Shows  you  have  plaguy  steady 
nerves." 

Roger  Lee  crossed  to  the  sideboard  and  poured  himself  out 
a  glass  of  wine. 

"Phew!  what  a  night  it  is,"  he  muttered,  shrugging  his 
damp  shoulders.  "We've  settled  your  affair  for  you,  Curtis. 
To-morrow,  in  the  meadow  behind  the  wood  by  Charity 
Farm.  We  take  the  air  at  eleven." 

"It's  a  late  hour,"  explained  Beringer ;  "but  there  is  small 


"A  SIGH  IN  THE  DARK"  87 

fear  of  interruption  there.  And  the  hour  is  to  suit  his 
convenience." 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you  both — "  began  Tim  slowly. 

"Pish,  man!"  said  Beringer,  interrupting  him  with  a 
laugh. 

"Only  too  glad  to  see  you  through  the  affair,"  said  Roger 
Lee.  "I'm  only  sorry  there  is  to  be  no  rapier  play.  'Twould 
have  been  plaguy  slippery,  but  'tis  a  pleasure  to  watch  you 
at  the  work." 

"What  of  the  others?"  asked  Tim  slowly. 

Beringer  laughed.  "Egad,  you  fire-eater!  Settle  this 
affair  with  Wimbourne  first,  and  if  Bob  and  Charlie  don't 
offer  an  apology  we  can  arrange  a  meeting  later." 

"I  don't  ask  what  is  your  quarrel  with  Tracy,"  said  Roger 
Lee,  pausing  to  see  if  any  information  was  forthcoming, 
"but  I  must  say  he  has  the  most  demmed  ungentlemanly 
way  of  insulting  I  have  ever  seen." 

He  lifted  the  box  of  duelling  pistols  from  the  sideboard 
and  carried  them  to  the  table.  "Are  these  in  order?"  he 
asked.  "Have  you  had  any  practice  lately?" 

"Are  there  any  little  affairs  I  can  attend  to  for  you?" 
asked  Beringer,  glancing  at  the  disordered  papers  in  the 
bureau. 

Tim  did  not  answer.  He  sat  gloomily  on  the  arm  of  a 
chair,  playing  with  his  snuff-box  and  staring  at  the  ground. 

The  two  men  looked  at  him  in  surprise  and  exchanged 
glances.  Then  Beringer  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Tim?"  he  asked  sharply. 
"Have  you  no  stomach  for  the  fight  ?" 

Tim  roused  himself.  "I'm  very  grateful  to  you  two  for 
the  trouble  you've  taken  in  this  affair.  But  the  fact  of  the 
matter  is  I — I've  decided  not  to  fight  Wimbourne." 


88  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Not  to  fight  him!"  cried  Lee.    "Has  he  apologised?" 

"No,"  said  Tim  coolly,  "nor  is  he  likely  to  do  so." 

Lee  strode  round  the  table  and  stared  at  him  angrily. 

"You — you're  making  fools  of  us,  Curtis.  You  must  meet 
your  man  now.  The  affair  has  gone  too  far  to  be  settled 
without  an  apology." 

Tim  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"I  can't  fight  Wimbourne,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"But  why  not?  What  ails  you,  man?"  asked  Beringer. 
"I  know  you  and  Tracy  were  friends,  but  you  did  your  best 
this  evening  to  keep  out  of  the  affair.  Tracy  forced  it 
upon  you." 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Curtis  doesn't  recollect  that  he  has  been 
dubbed  'thief  and  'coward'  in  public,"  said  Roger  Lee 
stiffly. 

Tim  flushed,  but  outwardly  preserved  his  cool  demeanour. 

"My  mind  is  fixed.  I  shall  not  fight  Wimbourne,"  he  re- 
peated. "You'll  oblige  me  by  carrying  to  him  my  message." 

"By  heaven !  that  I  shall  not,"  burst  out  Lee  angrily.  "I'd 
have  you  know,  Mr.  Curtis,  I  hold  your  conduct  most  in- 
sulting. I'll  bear  a  challenge  for  any  man,  but  demme  if  it's 
a  gentleman's  work  to  carry  round  the  white  feather." 

Tim  shut  his  snuff-box  with  a  snap.    His  eyes  gleamed. 

"And  I'd  have  you  know.  Lee,"  he  said  curtly,  "I'll  not 
have  my  conduct  called  in  question  by  you  or  any  man." 

"Egad!  a  man  who  sits  down  under  the  name  of  coward 
is  like  to  have  his  conduct  freely  questioned,"  retorted  Lee 
with  a  sneer.  "I'll  be  obleeged,  Mr.  Curtis,  if  you  will  num- 
ber me  with  Sir  Tracy  and  Lord  Robert  in  this  affair." 

He  seized  his  hat,  and  turning  on  his  heel  with  a  scornful 
gesture,  strode  out  of  the  room. 

Timothy  watched  him  depart  with  a  whimsical  smile  and 


"A  SIGH  IN  THE  DARK"  89 

a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  He  glanced  up  at  Beringer  ques- 
tioningly  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes. 

"Well,  Davie?"  he  asked. 

Beringer  looked  at  him  with  troubled  brows. 

"Tim,  this  is  impossible.  There  are  some  things  a  man 
can't  do." 

"True,  and  I  can't  fight  Tracy." 

"You  know  what  interpretation  will  be  put  upon  it?" 

"An  interpretation  I  can  silence." 

"You  will  have  to  fight  half  Bath  to  do  so." 

"Possibly.    Will  you  act  for  me  again  ?" 

Beringer  flushed.  "Plague  on  you,  Tim,  I  don't  un- 
derstand you,"  he  said  huskily.  "I — I'll  see  you  in 
the  morning.  Maybe  you  will  have  found  your  senses 
then." 

He  picked  up  his  coat  and  with  a  last  puzzled  look  took 
his  departure. 

Tim  sat  silent  till  the  echoing  footsteps  died  away  in  the 
lane  below ;  then  he  lifted  his  head  with  a  defiant  smile. 

"It  seems,"  he  said  slowly,  "I'm  in  a  fair  way  to  have  a 
demmed  busy  morning  before  me." 

He  gave  a  sudden  sigh,  and  crossing  the  room  to  the  inner 
door,  called  Adelaide. 

"Your  way  is  clear  now,  madam,"  he  said.  "If  you  will 
permit  me,  I  will  take  you  home.  The  rain  is  over." 

Without  a  word  she  pulled  her  hood  about  her  face  and 
accepted  his  guidance  down  the  dark  stairs.  Silently  they 
paced  the  deserted  streets.  When  they  neared  the  turning 
into  St.  James's  Parade  she  stopped  and  laid  her  hand  on 
arm. 

"I  have  your  word  that  you  will  spare  Tracy?"  she  asked. 
"I  can  trust  you  ?" 


90  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Would  you  like  me  to  swear  it,  madam  ?"  he  asked  a  little 
impatiently. 

She  hesitated,  then  shook  her  head.  "No,  you  have  been 
very  good  to  me  to-night.  I  cannot  believe  evil  of  you.  It 
must  be  that — that  you  did  not  think  of  things  as — as  we 
do.  But  I  will  trust  you  to  keep  your  word  to  a  woman." 

They  walked  on  to  the  beginning  of  the  parade,  where  she 
stopped  and  turned  to  dismiss  him. 

"It  is  wiser  that  I  go  on  alone  now,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
"My  maid  is  watching  to  open  for  me.  Mr.  Curtis,  my 
honour  is  in  your  hands.  No  one  must  know  what  I  have 
done  to-night." 

"Your  honour  is  safe,  Lady  Wimbourne." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  hesitation,  then  added  wist- 
fully: 

"I  would  crave  yet  a  third  boon  if  I  might." 

"What  is  it,  madam?"  he  asked  gently. 

"That  you  have  pity  upon  Celia.  Spare  her  the  knowl- 
edge of  a  woman's  strife  betwixt  love  and  duty." 

"Madam,  I  would  die  for  her,"  he  said  softly. 

She  sighed.  "I  believe  you,  sir.  So  would  many  men.  It 
is  so  much  easier  to  die  for  a  woman  than  to  have  pity  upon 
her  weakness." 

She  turned  and  left  him  without  waiting  for  his  answer, 
and  he  strode  gloomily  back  to  his  rooms,  puzzling  over 
her  words. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"A    PELICAN    IN    THE    WILDERNESS" 

THE  Christopher  Inn  shared  with  the  three  famous  coffee 
houses  of  Bath  the  favours  of  men  of  fashion  as  a  con- 
venient breakfast  centre  after  the  morning  glass  at  the 
Pump  Room.  It  was  essentially  a  bachelor  haunt.  It 
lacked  the  dainty  appurtenances  of  Wiltshire's  rooms,  the 
feminine  attractions  of  the  Toy-Shop  Tavern ;  but  the 
cooking  far  excelled  that  of  any  other  inn  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  the  number  of  small  rooms  were  excellently 
suited  to  the  private  breakfasts  followed  by  morning  gam- 
ing parties,  so  much  in  vogue  at  that  period. 

Number  7,  the  room  most  in  request,  was  a  long  narrow 
apartment  in  the  upper  story,  with  three  tall  windows  look- 
ing out  upon  the  High  Street  opposite  the  Guildhall.  It 
was  approached  by  a  separate  staircase  and  passage,  and 
at  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  July  10th  it  was  crowded 
to  the  utmost  limit  of  its  accommodation.  Sir  Tracy  Wim- 
bourne  had  commanded  a  breakfast  for  twenty,  and 
despite  the  early  hour,  it  was  a  merry  party.  Wild  shouts 
of  laughter  rang  through  the  room,  floating  out  through 
the  open  windows,  waking  the  echoes  of  the  quiet  sunlit 
street,  and  causing  grave  mercers  to  shake  their  heads 
sourly  or  to  smile  in  jocular  sympathy,  according  as  trade 
was  good  or  bad,  or  they  themselves  merrily  or  otherwise 
inclined. 

At  last  the  breakfast  was  ended.  The  tables  were  cleared, 
and  for  half  an  hour  after  the  servants  had  left  the  room, 


92  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

the  company  played  steadily,  gathered  in  little  groups 
about  the  various  tables,  sorting  the  cards  and  naming  the 
stakes  with  monotonous  regularity.  Then  Tracy  rose  to 
his  feet. 

Immediately  every  man  threw  down  his  cards,  and  still 
sitting  at  the  tables  all  turned  to  face  their  host.  Tracy 
drew  some  papers  from  his  inner  pocket,  and  leaning  his 
elbow  on  the  chimneypiece  proceeded  to  open  them  and 
scan  their  contents. 

"Er — look  to  the  door,  Noll,  would  you?"  he  said  slowly. 
"Has  any  one  seen  David  Beringer  this  morning?" 

Sir  Oliver  Shirley  opened  the  door  and  looked  down  the 
passage.  It  was  empty,  and  nodding  reassuringly  at 
Tracy,  he  returned  to  his  seat. 

"I  saw  Beringer  this  morning,"  said  Roger  Lee  shortly. 
"He  should  be  here  anon.  He  has  news  for  you,  Wim- 
bourne,"  he  added,  with  a  scornful  curl  of  his  lip. 

Tracy  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "Well,  we'll  not  wait  for  him. 
To  business.  I  received  a  despatch  this  morning.  There  is 
news  and  we  must  be  stirring.  The  Prince  sailed  from  Dun- 
kirk on  the  second  day  of  the  month." 

A  stir  went  through  the  assembly.  Men  lifted  their  heads 
eagerly,  with  that  light  in  their  eyes,  that  is  only  awakened 
by  a  call  to  arms ;  the  fighting  spirit  of  youth  warmed  their 
blood. 

"So  it  has  come  at  last,"  muttered  Roger  Lee  with  a  long 
sigh  of  satisfaction.  "At  last !" 

Rory  poised  the  king  of  spades  on  the  tips  of  his  fingers, 
and  with  a  flip  sent  the  card  spinning  across  the  room. 
"There  goes  Geordie,"  he  said  mockingly,  "back  to  his 
country  house." 

Tracy  resumed  his  explanation.    "The  Prince  was  accom- 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"        93 

panied  by  two  frigates,  both  well  supplied  with  arms  and 
ammunition.  His  landing  place  is  uncertain,  but  it  is  prob- 
able, if  the  way  lies  clear,  they  will  run  in  as  near  Bristol 
as  possible,  somewhere  on  the  South  Wales  coast.  Kelly  will 
send  a  messenger  to  me  directly  he  lands  and  we  must  be 
ready  at  once  for  action.  All  the  risings  are  to  be,  as  far  as 
possible,  simultaneous." 

"What  is  the  plan?"  asked  Marcus. 

"When  the  signal  is  given  we  seize  the  gates  and  bridges, 
occupy  the  Guildhall  and  the  quarters  of  the  City  Guard. 
We  hold  the  town  for  King  James,  enroll  and  drill  volun- 
teers, fortify  the  walls  and  prepare  to  give  the  Prince  a 
royal  welcome.  There  are  twenty  of  us  here,  with  our  ser- 
vants we  number  at  least  fourscore.  There  are  sixty  gen- 
tlemen in  Bath  and  as  many  again  in  the  neighbourhood 
prepared  to  declare  for  the  Stuart  when  he  lands  in  Eng- 
land. We  shall  have  half  the  mercers  and  all  the  'prentices 
on  our  side;  all  the  arms  and  ammunition  will  be  in  our 
hands,  and  we  shall  hold  the  gates.  The  affair  should  go 
almost  without  bloodshed." 

"And  in  the  meantime — until  we  hear  from  the  Prince?" 
asked  Charles  Rathborne  eagerly. 

"We  must  keep  the  affair  silent,  but  so  far  as  we  can 
without  exciting  suspicions  test  the  politics  of  the  towns- 
folk. And  we  must  get  the  arms  into  the  town  and  safelj 
bestowed  at  Madame  Grieve's,  ready  for  the  signal." 

"You  are  sure  there  is  safe  hiding  for  them  at  Madame 
Grieve's?"  asked  Lord  Stavely. 

"Safe  as  the  grave.  Egad !  the  patience  of  that  woman ! 
For  two  years  she  has  lived  there  waiting  for  this  chance. 
She  has  her  regular  customers  who  can  speak  for  her 
honesty ;  she  has  their  hours  fixed  and  knows  their  comings 


94  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

and  goings.  They  may  watch  her,  they  may  search  the 
house;  they  will  scent  nothing.  For  two  years  she  has 
sacrificed  herself  to  suit  the  whims  and  fads  of  her  cus- 
tomers, all  for  the  chance  of  this  hour.  A  woman's  loyalty, 
gentlemen,  is  a  miracle." 

Rory  laughed  softly.  "Faith,  that's  true.  But  'tis 
loyalty  to  the  man,  not  to  the  King.  Jamie  had  a  tongue 
in's  youth,  and  Marie  Grieve  has  not  yet  forgot  1715." 

Lord  Robert  frowned.  "And  is  her  devotion  to  be  decried 
because  love,  not  loyalty,  may  be  the  source?"  he  asked 
sternly. 

A  soft  whistle  was  heard  without,  hurried  steps  ascending 
the  stair. 

"  'Twill  be  David  Beringer,"  said  Oliver,  opening  the 
door. 

Beringer  entered.  He  looked  flushed  and  angry  and 
muttered  an  excuse  for  his  tardy  appearance.  Roger  Lee 
crossed  to  his  side. 

"Well,"  he  asked,  "what  does  he  say?  Has  morning 
brought  counsel?" 

Beringer  shook  his  head.    "He'll  not  fight,"  he  said  surlily. 

Lee  gave  a  mocking  laugh.  "We've  news  for  you,  Wim- 
bourne,"  he  said.  "Your  cock  last  night  crowed  too  loudly. 
Mr.  Curtis  withdraws  his  challenge  and  will  not  fight  with 
you." 

Tracy  wheeled  round  and  faced  the  speaker. 

"Not  fight !"  he  gasped.    "He'll  not  fight  me?    Why?" 

Roger  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Presumably  because  in 
his  opinion  'pistols  are  too  demmed  risky,'  "  he  quoted  with 
a  sneer. 

Tracy  stood  silent,  staring  at  the  ground.  Lord  Robert 
crossed  to  his  side ;  his  eyes  gleamed  angrily. 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"       95 

"He  refuses  to  fight  you.  Tracy,  isn't  that  enough  to 
prove  his  treachery?  In  justice  you  must  give  him  over  to 
our  hands  now." 

"Some  one  is  coming,"  said  Oliver  quietly. 

The  men  turned  in  their  seats  and  mechanically  took  up 
their  cards.  •  A  moment  later  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door 
and  a  servant  entered  with  a  packet,  which  he  handed  to 
Lord  Stavely,  who  lodged  at  the  Christopher  Inn. 

"From  London,  my  lord.     By  express." 

Stavely  dismissed  the  man,  and  opening  the  packet,  began 
to  read  the  contents. 

The  men  talked  eagerly  together,  discussing  the  news  from 
France  and  casting  curious  looks  at  Lord  Robert,  who  stood 
whispering  to  Tracy,  insistently  urging  his  claim. 

A  sudden  exclamation  from  Stavely  startled  them.  He 
had  risen  to  his  feet  with  crimson  face  and  eyes  blazing  with 
passion. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "here  is  the  most  damnable  treason. 
I  have  received  a  despatch  from  Sir  Thomas  Winnington." 

Rory  was  playing  idly  with  the  cards,  balancing  one  upon 
the  other  as  children  build  card  castles.  He  looked  up  with 
a  quick  smile. 

"Well,"  he  asked,  "what  says  my  revered  uncle  that  is  so 
damned  treasonable  ?" 

Stavely  eyed  him  impatiently.  "He  writes  me  that  he  has 
proof  that  Pelham  has  paid  £5,000  to  a  gentleman  of  our 
company  to  watch  the  friends  of  the  Stuart  and  betray  to 
him  our  plans.  We  have  a  spy  among  us." 

The  effect  of  his  words  was  instantaneous.  Men  sprang  to 
their  feet  with  clenched  fists,  with  gleaming  eyes.  Rage, 
fear,  suspicion  were  written  on  every  face.  A  low,  menac- 
ing cry  echoed  through  the  room. 


96  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"His  name?    His  name?" 

"He  has  no  information  as  to  his  name,"  answered 
Stavely.  "He  can  but  assert  'tis  one  of  our  company." 

Every  man  glanced  at  his  neighbour  with  quick  suspicion, 
with  incredulous  wonder.  Rory  Winnington  looked  round 
the  circle  with  a  careless  shrug. 

"But  has  no  man  a  clue  to  offer?"  he  asked. 

Lord  Robert  laid  his  hand  on  Tracy's  arm. 

"Is  it  to  be  you  or  I  ?"  he  said  softly. 

Tracy  stepped  forward.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said  quietly, 
"there  is  no  need  for  Sir  Thomas  to  tell  us  the  name  of  the 
spy.  I  know  him  and  can  prove  his  guilt." 

Rory  steadily  balanced  another  story  on  his  castle. 

"Ah!"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "You  know  him?  His  name 
then,  Tracy." 

"Timothy  Curtis !" 

Rory's  card  castle  crashed  to  the  ground;  he  turned  to 
Tracy  a  face  of  incredulous  surprise. 

"Tim  Curtis?  Tim?  Great  heavens,  Tracy,  what  mad- 
brained  maggot  are  you  hunting  now?" 

"Wimbourne,  you  can  prove  this  ?"  asked  Stavely  gravely. 

"You  may  rest  assured,  gentlemen,  I  should  not  bring  such 
an  accusation  were  I  not  able  to  prove  it.  Mr.  Curtis  has 
himself  admitted  Lord  Pelham's  bribe.  But  further  than 
this,  I  have  reason  to  believe  he  has  stolen  from — from  my 
household  papers  dealing  with  this  affair  of  the  Prince's 
landing,  which  were  intrusted  to  me  by  Captain  McFee — 
papers  of  such  import  that  he  holds  our  lives  in  his  hands." 

"Since  when  have  you  known  this,  Wimbourne?"  asked 
Lord  Stavely  quickly. 

"Since  yestereven.  I  am  to  blame,  gentlemen,  that  I  did 
not  earlier  intrust  you  with  the  matter.  But  the  loss  of 


«A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"       97 

the  papers  was  my  affair ;  I  wished  to  deal  with  him  myself. 
I  was  to  have  met  him  this  morning,  and  trusted  I  might 
have  the  fortune  to  kill  him  in  fair  fight." 

Lord  Stavely  bowed  his  head  gravely,  and  the  others 
nodded  acceptance  of  his  explanation.  They  guessed  that 
his  wife  was  concerned  in  the  matter,  and  though  the  sus- 
picions of  many  were  far  afield  from  the  truth,  they  under- 
stood his  desire  to  move  alone  in  the  affair. 

"I  was  with  Tracy  in  the  matter,"  said  Lord  Robert, 
"though  'twas  against  my  will  he  kept  it  secret.  But  now 
Mr.  Curtis  refuses  to  fight.  What  is  to  be  done  now  ?" 

"The  man  must  die,"  said  Lord  Stavely  sternly.  The 
others  nodded  acquiescence. 

"But  if  he  will  not  fight?"  urged  Charles  Rathborne. 

"We  will  force  him  to  do  so,"  cried  Roger  Lee  fiercely. 
"I  have  an  affair  with  him  myself.  I  shall  send  him  a 
challenge  this  morning." 

"But  Mr.  Curtis,  it  would  seem,  exercises  his  own  discretion 
in  the  acceptance  or  refusal  of  a  challenge,"  said  Lord 
Robert  sneeringly. 

Beringer  stepped  forward.  "Tim  Curtis  is  no  coward,"  he 
said  unsteadily.  "I  believed  last  night  his  refusal  to  fight 
was  based  on  the  score  of  friendship  for  Tracy.  I  deemed 
him  ready  enough  to  take  the  air  with  any  other  gentleman. 
But  if  Tracy  is  right  in  his  accusation,  then  I  say  frankly 
I  do  not  understand  the  man ;  it  may  be  he  will  refuse  every 
challenge.  Only  he  is  no  coward." 

"For  myself,"  said  Marcus  quietly,  "I  do  not  cross  swords 
with  a  spy." 

Lord  Stavely  shook  his  head.  "The  man  must  be  silenced," 
he  repeated. 

"Just  so.     We  can  force  him  to  fight,"  cried  Rathborne. 


98  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"We  will  challenge  him  one  by  one.  Surely  we'll  kill  him 
amongst  us." 

A  murmur  of  assent  echoed  through  the  room.  Lord 
Robert  held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  gravely,  "our  first  consideration  must 
be  not  what  we  owe  to  Mr.  Curtis,  nor  how  to  secure  the 
safety  of  our  own  necks,  but  rather  how  to  protect  the 
interests  of  the  Prince.  Suppose  we  all  challenge  Mr. 
Curtis,  and  suppose  he  accepts  our  challenge;  what  then? 
There  is  no  man  among  us,  given  ordinary  luck,  who  can 
hold  his  own  against  Curtis  with  the  rapier.  I  speak  plainly, 
gentlemen,  you  must  pardon  me — the  moment  demands  it. 
There  is,  I  am  well  assured,  no  man  here  who  would  let  such 
a  consideration  weigh  with  him  for  a  moment  did  he  deem 
it  his  duty  to  meet  Mr.  Curtis.  But  there  are,  as  I  say,  other 
considerations.  If  we  stand  up  one  by  one  to  be  pinked  by 
this  fellow,  how  is  the  Prince's  service  to  be  forwarded? 
Gentlemen,  we  must  not  let  our  natural  desire  to  punish  this 
man  blind  us  in  this  matter." 

Indignant  protest,  incoherent  mutterings  of  agreement  or 
anger  rang  through  the  room.  Tracy  laid  his  hand  on  Lord 
Robert's  arm. 

"You  are  right,  Bob,"  he  said.  "I  would  not  listen  to 
you  last  night,  but  you  are  right.  The  Prince  must  come 
first.  We  must  not  waste  ourselves  on  private  quarrels." 

"But  if  we  can't  meet  him  in  fair  fight,  what's  to  be  done 
with  the  fellow?"  cried  Rathborne  impatiently. 

"There  is  but  one  way  to  silence  him,"  began  Lord 
Stavely  slowly. 

"Would  you  assassinate  him  ?"  asked  Rory  bluntly. 

Stavely  nodded.    "  'Tis  his  life  or  ours." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  by  Marcus. 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"       99 

"I'll  have  no  hand  in  the  matter,"  he  said  slowly.  "We 
are  a  company  of  gentlemen,  not  cut-throats." 

"But  in  the  Prince's  service,  Sir  Marcus — "  began 
Stavely. 

"In  no  man's  services  should  it  be  required  of  a 
gentleman  to  soil  his  fingers  with  assassination,"  answered 
Marcus. 

Tracy  intervened.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "Timothy  Cur- 
tis was  my  friend,  and — the  man's  been  tempted.  Though 
I  am  ready  to  go  to  extremes  to  silence  him  if  need  be,  I — 
we  all — would  gladly  be  spared  the  necessity.  Why,  then, 
should  we  not  kidnap  him  simply,  keep  him  close  till  the 
affair  is  through,  and  then  leave  it  to  the  Prince  to  deal 
with  him  as  he  chooses?  Gentlemen,  I  move  we  adopt  that 
plan ;  further,  that  Mr.  Lee,  Lord  Stavely  and  Sir  Charles 
Rathborne  take  the  responsibility  of  the  affair.  You  must 
make  your  own  arrangements,  gentlemen,  but  it  should  be 
to-morrow  night  at  latest,  and,  in  the  meantime,  he  must 
be  shadowed,  that  he  does  not  escape  us.  You  will  recollect 
further,  gentlemen,  the  affair  must  be  kept  absolutely 
quiet." 

"But  in  the  meantime,"  objected  Sir  Marcus,  "I  can- 
not meet  Mr.  Curtis  as  though  nothing  were  afoot.  The 
man  is  a  spy — I  cannot  treat  him  as  a  gentleman." 

"Nor  I,"  cried  half  a  dozen  voices. 

"Nor  I,  demme,"  said  Roger  Lee  vindictively. 

"It  will  not  be  necessary,"  said  Lord  Robert  quietly. 
"One  does  not  extend  the  hand  of  fellowship  to  one  who  has 
been  dubbed  a  thief  and  a  coward  and  who  shrinks  from 
calling  his  accuser  to  account.  We  shall  be  fully  justified 
on  that  score  in  refusing  Mr.  Curtis's  acquaintance." 

There  was  a  low  exclamation  from  David  Beringer,  who 


100  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

stood  by  the  window;  the  others  crowded  round  him  and 
looked  down  into  the  street  below. 

Down  the  opposite  causeway  in  the  full  glare  of  the  bright 
sunlight  strolled  Miss  Celia  Winnington,  her  blue  dress 
shimmering,  her  bright  eyes  shining,  her  fair  curls  danc- 
ing beneath  the  wide  brim  of  her  hat.  Beside  her  walked 
Timothy  Curtis,  leaning  toward  her  to  listen  to  her  words, 
his  face  wearing  a  look  of  blissful  content.  Behind  them 
marched  an  elderly  maid,  her  duenna-like  primness  so  far 
relaxed  as  to  smile  on  the  couple  in  front.  Celia  was 
laughing  and  chattering  gaily  in  evident  appreciation  of 
her  company,  and  once,  when  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  met 
his  glance,  her  face  crimsoned  sweetly  with  blushes  and  her 
lips  dimpled  into  a  smile  of  happiness.  They  passed  slowly 
down  the  street  and  disappeared  round  the  corner. 

The  watchers  turned  away  from  the  window  and  eyed  each 
other  in  silence.  Then  Rory  Winnington  broke  into  his 
low  mocking  laugh. 

"Egad !"  he  said,  "it's  well  for  Tim  Curtis  that  the  Prince 
is  to  deal  with  him.  He'd  have  short  shrift  otherwise,  I'm 
thinking.  Come,  Tracy,  is  the  sitting  over?  I'm  due  on 
the  Walks  at  noon." 

"There  is  no  more  to  be  done  at  present,"  answered 
Tracy,  "save  to  be  in  readiness.  Stavely,  we  leave  Mr. 
Curtis  in  your  hands."  He  took  Lord  Robert's  arm  and 
the  two  men  left  the  room,  talking  eagerly  together  in  low 
tones. 

Some  of  the  company  sat  down  again  to  cards,  but  the 
majority  hurried  out  into  the  sunshine  and  dispersed  about 
their  various  pursuits. 

Meanwhile,  Celia  and  Timothy  dawdled  happily  down 
Staul  Street,  through  the  Abbey  Green  and  out  on  to  the 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"      101 

South  Parade.  They  looked  into  the  Toy-Shop  to  read  the 
news  and  examine  the  knick-knacks ;  they  called  at  three 
mercers'  in  search  of  a  ribband,  and  they  paused  at  Lewis's 
famous  book-shop  to  see  the  latest  political  squibs.  At 
length,  in  the  course  of  an  hour,  they  reached  the  end  of  the 
South  Parade  and  stopped  to  look  out  over  the  wide  pros- 
pect of  Beechen  Cliff  with  its  beautiful  hanging  woods 
a-shimmer  in  the  dancing  sunlight.  Celia  broke  into  a  soft 
laugh  of  sheer  happiness. 

"Oh!  the  adorable  world!  the  adorable  world!"  she  cried; 
"how  heavenly  it  is  to-day !" 

A  bright  butterfly  fluttered  by  her,  darting  and  swooping 
hither  and  thither  in  an  aimless  joyance  of  heart,  like 
the  music  of  a  child's  untutored  song.  Celia  pointed  to 
it  with  a  smile. 

"The  spirit  of  the  morning,  Mr.  Curtis." 

Timothy  laughed.  "Lud !  madam,  a  mighty  idle  one.  Do 
not  the  divines  teach  us  that  the  butterfly  is  a  monster 
of  iniquity  and  sloth?  I  protest  we  don't  merit  the  com- 
parison, we've  been  mightily  diligent  this  morning.  You 
should  liken  us  to  his  reverence,  the  bee." 

Celia  shook  her  head.  "No,  no,  I  would  rather  play  the 
butterfly.  For  the  bee — methinks  his  virtue  doth  protest 
too  much.  Moreover  all  his  toil  is  for  his  own  welfare.  But 
the  butterfly  makes  the  world  more  beautiful  by  simply  liv- 
ing in  it." 

"Then,  madam,  you  do  indeed  play  the  butterfly,"  said 
Tim  softly. 

She  laughed  and  flushed.  "A  truce  to  gallantry,  Mr. 
Curtis,  and  attend  my  serious  discourse.  Indeed,  the  but- 
terfly deserves  your  esteem.  If  man  or  woman  be  called 
upon  to  work  let  them  fulfil  that  duty  with  great-hearted 


102  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

zeal ;  they  will  be  rewarded  here  and  hereafter.  But  for 
us — and  the  butterfly — of  whom  'twould  seem  God  de- 
mands no  work,  may  there  not  be  some  merit  even  in  rejoic- 
ing in  the  sunshine,  and  giving  thanks?" 

Timothy  gazed  after  the  fluttering  wings  with  a  smile 
in  his  eyes.  "And  when  the  sunshine  passes,  madam?"  he 
asked. 

"The  butterfly  disappears.  When,  pray,  saw  you  a 
drenched  and  dismal  butterfly  to  rend  your  heart  with 
thoughts  of  gloom?  If  he  cannot  rejoice  in  the  sunshine, 
making  the  world  brighter  by  his  happiness,  he  will  not 
make  it  sour  by  his  pain.  He  hides  his  head  till  the  storm 
passes,  bearing  his  trouble  alone." 

"Egad,  madam,  he's  a  rare  blade.  'Twould  seem  you've 
given  much  study  to  the  subject." 

She  laughed.  "Is  there  not  rare  opportunity  in  Bath? 
'Tis  not  a  town  that  shelters  many  bees." 

He  looked  down  at  her  thoughtfully.  "I  think,  Mistress 
Celia,  you  have  a  rare  charity.  There  are  not  many  who 
can  find  virtue  in  a  life  of  idleness." 

"Indeed,  sir,  virtue  may  lurk  in  every  life.  It  may  prove 
as  hard  for  a  butterfly  to  preserve  his  nobility  in  idleness  as 
it  seemingly  is  for  the  bee  to  be  silent  at  his  work." 

She  turned,  and  together  they  traversed  the  parade  and 
strolled  on  towards  the  entrance  to  the  Walks,  which  at  that 
hour  were  crowded  with  pedestrians.  Here  Lucy  de  Putren 
came  to  meet  them.  She  looked  curiously  at  Timothy,  and 
slipping  her  arm  through  Celia's,  walked  along  between 
them. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  slowly,  "the  air  of  the  Walks  is  not 
very  wholesome  for  you  this  morning.  Take  my  advice  and 
ride  in  the  country  to-day." 


Timothy  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "I  don't  follow  you,  Lady 
de  Putren,"  he  said,  laughing;  "but  I've  such  a  spirit  of 
inquisitiveness  that  if  I  do  but  hear  a  place  is  unwholesome, 
the  devil  in  it  if  I  can  resist  going  there  to  try." 

Lucy  de  Putren  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  they  walked 
on  toward  a  group  of  acquaintances  chattering  eagerly 
together. 

Celia  paused  beside  them.  "Good-morning,"  she  said 
gaily ;  "what  is  the  news  ?" 

They  turned  to  greet  her  gladly,  but  at  sight  of  her  com- 
panion a  look  of  constraint  fell  upon  them  and  an  awkward 
silence  ensued. 

"Egad!"  cried  Timothy,  laughing,  "here's  mystery. 
Whose  reputation  were  you — heightening,  Lady  Belper?  I 
warrant  the  story  is  tastily  seasoned  unless  Digby's  genius 
has  forsaken  him.  Eh,  Digby?" 

Sir  Ralph  Digby,  the  most  noted  rattle  of  the  year,  turned 
on  his  heel  without  a  word  and  strode  away.  Lady  Belper 
turned  her  shoulder  to  Tim,  and  pointedly  ignoring  his  re- 
mark, began  to  talk  to  Lucy  de  Putren.  Celia  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  with  wondering  eyes. 

Two  or  three  men  gathered  round  her,  exercising  their 
wits  in  such  compliments  as  were  deemed  due  to  the  Queen 
of  Bath.  Twice  Timothy  attempted  to  join  in  the  con- 
versation, but  his  remarks  and  his  presence  were  pointedly 
ignored.  He  withdrew  to  the  edge  of  the  group  and  stood 
swinging  his  quizzing  glass  and  biting  his  lips  in  puzzled 
vexation. 

Presently  Celia  turned  to  walk  on,  and  gave  him  a  smiling 
invitation  to  escort  her.  Lucy  de  Putren  accompanied  them, 
but  the  others  drew  together  again  and  continued  their  con- 
versation. 


104  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

The  three  passed  on  down  the  Walks.  Here  again  the  same 
conduct  was  repeated:  hats  were  doffed,  hands  were  waved 
to  Celia  and  Lucy  de  Putren,  but  all  Tim's  salutations  were 
passed  over  without  acknowledgment;  it  was  plain  he  was 
being  deliberately  slighted. 

Celia  glanced  up  at  him  curiously.  His  face  was  flushed 
and  his  lips  twitched  nervously,  otherwise  he  gave  no  sigri 
that  he  noted  anything  unusual. 

"It  seems,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  slowly,  "you  are  some- 
what unpopular  this  morning." 

He  looked  down  on  her  with  a  quiet  smile.  "It  seems 
so,  madam.  But  with  your  permission  I  will  seek  a  more 
convenient  occasion  to — demand  the  cause  of  my — er — un- 
popularity." 

She  nodded  and  smiled  at  his  forbearance.  At  the  end  of 
the  Walks  she  paused. 

"I'd  be  obleeged  if  you  would  fetch  me  a  chair,  Mr. 
Curtis,"  she  said.  "I  have  walked  for  more  than  an  hour." 

He  turned  away  to  do  her  bidding.  She  laid  an  eager  hand 
on  Lady  de  Putren's  arm. 

"Lucy,  what  does  it  all  mean?  Why  in  heaven's  name 
is  every  one  so — so  insolent  to  Mr.  Curtis?" 

"Lud,  Celia,  I  don't  understand  the  rights  of  it,  and  I 
like  Tim  Curtis — you  know  that  well.  But  it  seems  he 
and  Tracy  quarrelled  last  night  at  Lord  Cornwallis's  house. 
A  meeting  was  arranged,  but  this  morning  Mr.  Curtis  has 
withdrawn  and  refuses  to  meet  Tracy,  because,  so  the  story 
goes,  he  thinks  pistols  'too  demmed  risky.'  In  short,  'tis 
said  he  prefers  to  be  dubbed  coward." 

"He  and  Tracy  quarrelled!  But,  Lucy,  he  is  Tracy's 
trustiest  friend.  How  could  they  quarrel  ?" 

Lucy  shrugged  her  shoulders.     "Tracy  has  a  cause  for 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"      105 

quarrel  against  him  now,  it  seems.  'Tis  said  he  called  him 
a  thief  yesterday  and  gave  him  the  lie,  and  Mr.  Curtis  has 
swallowed  it  as  meekly  as  the  veriest  calf." 

Celia  turned  and  looked  down  the  Walks  on  the  brightly 
dressed  groups  passing  to  and  fro.  Her  eyes  were  shining, 
her  breast  heaving  with  emotion.  There  was  a  tender  light 
in  her  eyes. 

"Lucy,"  she  said  softly,  "I  deem  Mr.  Curtis  the  most 
courtly  gentleman  in  England.  His  friend  (Heaven  only 
knows  why)  insults  him  grossly;  he  bears  the  brand  of 
coward  and  the  scorn  of  all  his  acquaintances,  and  yet 
despite  all  he  will  not  draw  his  sword  on  Tracy,  because 
he  knows " 

She  stopped  with  a  little  conscious  laugh.  Lucy  looked 
at  her  curiously. 

"Because  he  knows  what,  Celia?" 

Celia  blushed  and  laughed  again.  "Because  Tracy  is  his 
friend.  Because  he  knows  if  ill  befell  Tracy  it  would  bring 
trouble  upon — Adelaide." 

"On  Adelaide !"  said  Lucy,  meeting  Celia's  eyes  and  laugh- 
ing. "The  courtly  gentleman !  On  Adelaide  or  on — some- 
body else?  Lud,  child,  if  that's  your  interpretation,  small 
wonder  you  find  no  heart  to  blame." 

"Blame !"  she  cried.  "Lucy,  they  call  me  Queen  of  Bath. 
A  queen  should  lead,  not  follow  the  judgment  of  others. 
I  will  show  those  impertinents  yonder  where  the  blame  lies. 
All !  here  he  comes." 

She  turned  to  Timothy  with  the  sweetest  smile  of  welcome. 

"Mr.  Curtis,  I  am  sorry  I  troubled  you ;  I  prefer  to  walk 
home.  Will  you  not  escort  me?" 

She  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  nodding  a  farewell 
to  Lucy,  walked  slowly  down  the  terrace,  chattering  gaily 


106  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

and  smiling  up  at  him  with  such  a  sweet  look  of  trust  in  her 
eyes  that  Timothy's  heart  beat  high  with  happiness,  and 
all  his  soul  went  out  in  an  honest  prayer  that  he  might 
be  worthy  to  serve  her. 

As  they  passed  every  quizzing  glass  was  raised  and  every 
eye  was  fixed  upon  them,  but  Celia  took  no  more  notice  of 
the  nodding  heads  and  becking  hands  than  if  they  had  been 
so  many  waving  flowers.  Totally  ignoring  all  salutations, 
she  walked  slowly  past  the  astounded  groups,  talking  calmly 
to  her  companion,  until  they  reached  the  end  of  the  terrace 
and  turned  into  Abbey  Green. 

Dead  silence  fell  upon  the  terrace  as  they  passed,  but 
directly  they  had  disappeared  the  talk,  the  whispers,  the 
laughter  broke  out  more  loudly  than  ever.  Bath  had  not 
known  such  a  sensation  for  fully  a  fortnight.  Women 
lifted  their  eyebrows  at  one  another  and  laughed  behind  their 
fans ;  men  scowled  at  the  ground  and  muttered  angry 
threats,  while  the  wits  hurried  from  group  to  group 
modestly  repeating  their  laboured  aphorisms  upon  the 
scene.  The  most  favoured  opinion  was  that  Miss  Winning- 
ton  must  be  ignorant  of  the  gossip  concerning  Mr.  Curtis ; 
the  most  general  desire  was  to  know  what  Sir  Tracy  and 
Lady  Wimbourne  would  say. 

But  Timothy,  as  he  walked  by  Celia's  side,  forgot  his 
humiliation,  forgot  his  anger,  forgot  all  save  that  his  lady 
smiled  on  him  as  never  before  and  chose  him  out  before  all 
the  world  to  be  distinguished  by  her  favour.  In  blissful 
silence  they  walked  side  by  side  to  St.  James's  Parade.  They 
turned  the  corner  and  found  themselves  face  to  face  with 
Lord  Robert  Dacre  and  Tracy  Wimbourne. 

The  two  men  stopped  dead.  Tracy  looked  from  Tim  to 
Celia  and  his  face  grew  white.  For  a  moment  his  eyes 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"      107 

threatened  an  outbreak  of  passion.  Lord  Robert  stepped 
forward  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  With  an  effort  Tracy 
swallowed  his  anger,  and  ignoring  the  presence  of  her  com- 
panion, turned  to  his  sister-in-law. 

"Celia,"  he  said  quietly,  "this  gentleman  has  been  suffi- 
ciently in  your  company.  I  will  take  you  home." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Celia  looked  from  Tracy's 
angry  face  to  Tim's  hard-set  mouth  and  hesitated.  Then 
she  met  Lord  Robert's  warning  glance,  and  with  quick  tact 
obeyed  her  brother-in-law.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Tim 
with  a  sweet  smile  of  friendship. 

"It  has  been  a  morning  to  remember,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said 
brightly.  "If  you  choose  to  come  for  it,  you  shall  have  my 
hand  in  the  first  country  dance  at  the  Rooms  to-night.  I 
will  trouble  you  no  longer  now.  Au  revoir." 

Tim  took  his  dismissal  without  comment.  He  kissed  her 
hand,  looked  once  into  her  eyes,  and  then,  not  casting  a 
glance  at  the  two  men,  stood  aside  and  watched  her  walk 
up  the  street  between  her  escort.  At  the  door  she  turned, 
waved  her  white  hand  once  in  farewell,  and  disappeared 
into  the  house. 

Then,  his  heart  singing  a  love  pfean,  but  his  thoughts  dark 
with  anger,  he  marched  to  the  stables,  mounted  his  horse 
and  rode  out  through  the  sunshine  up  on  to  the  freedom  of 
Claverton  Down.  There  he  galloped  till  his  anger  had 
vanished  and  all  his  future  showed  bright  with  love. 

Celia  quietly  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  drawing-room 
without  a  word.  Then  she  turned  on  her  brother-in-law 
with  the  light  of  anger  in  her  blue  eyes.  "Tracy,"  she  said 
firmly,  "I'll  be  obleeged  if  you'll  explain  to  me  what  this 
means.  No,  Lord  Robert,  do  not  leave  us.  I'll  be  pleased 
to  hear  your  explanation,  too." 


108  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  uncomfortably,  and 
Tracy  looked  to  the  door  for  his  wife.  Celia  read  his 
look. 

"No,  Tracy,  you  need  not  call  Adelaide.  I  wish  your 
own  explanation  as  to  why  you  choose  to  insult  a  gentleman 
— a  loyal  friend  of  mine,  in  my  presence." 

Tracy  pulled  himself  together.  "I  had  hoped,  Celia,  Mr. 
Curtis  would  himself  have  seen  the  propriety  of  avoiding 
your  company.  As  he  refuses  to  do  so,  'tis  for  you  to  dis- 
miss him.  We — we've  been  mistaken  in  him.  He  is  not 
worthy  to  be  honoured  by  your  acquaintance." 

Celia  seated  herself  elaborately.  "You  and  he  were 
friends  ?"  she  asked  slowly.  "It  would  seem  a  man  slips  the 
chain  of  friendship  easily  these  days.  But  it  is  not  so  with 
a  woman.  I'll  be  obleeged,  Tracy,  if  you'll  be  more  explicit 
in  your  explanation." 

Tracy  crossed  the  room  and  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"Celie,"  he  pleaded,  "I'd  rather  not  be  explicit.  'Twould 
be  wiser  if  you  would  trust  me  and  dismiss  Mr.  Curtis  from 
your  company.  Believe  me,  I  know  what  I'm  saying.  Bob 
will  bear  me  out  that  the  man  is  a  —  —  scoundrel." 

Celia  flushed.  "You  are  indeed  explicit,"  she  said  coldly- 
Then  suddenly  she  turned  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
"Tracy,  Tracy,  think  shame  of  yourself  for  speaking  so 
of  a  friend.  You  quarrel -with  Mr.  Curtis,  you  insult  him, 
and  when  he  refuses  to  fight  you  for — for  our  sake — you 
dub  him  a  scoundrel.  Sure,  Tracy  dear,  what's  come  to 
you  now?" 

She  lifted  to  him  a  sweetly  pleading  face,  the  mouth  just 
dimpling  into  the  suggestion  of  a  smile  of  mischievous 
triumph,  and  she  murmured  coaxingly : 

"Tracy,  be  good  to  me.     Settle  your  difference  with  Mr. 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"      109 

Curtis  for  my  sake,  and  thank  him  for  a  patience  with  your 
madness  that  does  him  honour." 

Tracy  stared  at  her  for  a  moment  helplessly.  Then  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  crossed  to  Lord  Robert. 

"Good  lack,  Bob !"  he  said  desperately ;  "what's  to  be 
done?" 

Lord  Robert  looked  across  at  her  with  a  great  tenderness 
in  his  eyes.  "You  must  tell  her  the  truth,"  he  said.  "  'Tis 
the  most  merciful." 

Tracy  stood  and  stared  out  of  the  window  with  his  back 
to  his  sister-in-law. 

"Celia,"  he  said  shortly,  "Mr.  Curtis  has  been  bribed  by  the 
Ministry  to  spy  upon  the  Jacobites  here  in  Bath ;  you  know 
there  are  many  of  that  opinion  among  us.  He  has  gained 
their  confidence  and  learned  their  plans  under  the  guise  of 
friendship,  and  he  has  stolen — from  a  woman — the  private 
papers  dealing  with  the  affair.  This  has  been  proved.  Was 
I  wrong  in  calling  him  a  villain?" 

There  was  a  moment's  dead  silence  in  the  room.  Then 
Celia  rose  and  crossed  to  Tracy's  side. 

"It  is  a  lie !"  she  said  hotly.     "I'll  not  believe  it." 

He  took  her  hand.  "So  I  thought  when  I  first  learned 
it,"  he  said  gently.  "But  it  is  true.  He  has  himself  ad- 
mitted it." 

Her  lips  faltered.    She  turned  to  Lord  Robert. 

"And  you,  my  lord,"  she  cried,  "do  you  believe  it  ?" 

"I'd  give  my  life  if  I  could  doubt  it,  madam,"  he  answered 
gently.  And  in  his  heart,  as  he  looked  at  her  face,  he 
vowed  that  Timothy  Curtis  should  pay  for  this  hour,  though 
it  cost  him  his  all  to  exact  the  price. 

She  pressed  her  hands  together  desperately  and  looked 
from  one  to  the  other ;  her  face  was  very  white. 


110  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"You  say  he  has  admitted  it?  And  it  is  proved?  But  how 
comes  it,"  she  cried — "if  this  be  so,  how  comes  it  that  he 
still  lives?" 

"Because  he  has  refused  to  fight,"  said  Tracy  sharply. 

"You — you  challenged  him  for  this?" 

"But  he  will  not  meet  me.  He  prefers  to  go  branded  with 
the  name  of  thief." 

"Tracy,  you  are  sure — sure?"  she  pleaded. 

He  nodded.    "He  was  my  friend,"  he  said  simply. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  with  face  averted,  and  to  the  two 
men  watching  her  the  silence  was  horrible.  Then  she  drew 
herself  up  proudly  and  turned  to  her  brother-in-law  with  a 
pathetic  little  smile. 

"I  am  sorry,  Tracy,"  she  said  humbly,  "that  I  mistrusted 
you.  You  were  right.  And  I  thank  you  and  Lord  Robert 
for  your  care  of  my  honour.  In  future  I  will  try  to  be 
guided  by  you  in  my  choice  of  acquaintances." 

She  paused,  then  continued  lightly :  "You  promised  to  take 
us  to  the  concert  dinner  at  the  Assembly  Rooms  to-day.  I 
will  go  and  change  my  gown."  She  smiled  at  him  again 
reassuringly  and  went  quickly  out  of  the  room. 

Tracy  looked  after  her  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  but  Lord 
Robert  shook  his  head. 

"Demme,  Tracy,"  he  muttered  miserably,  "I  feel  as  though 
I  had  killed  her." 

Alone  in  her  room  Celia  stood  long  gazing  out  into  the 
sunshine  with  unseeing  eyes,  while  the  tears  rolled  slowly 
down  her  cheeks. 

"I  deemed  him  the  worthiest  gentleman  in  the  world," 
she  whispered  drearily,  "and  it  seems  he  is  a  common 
spy.  Ah !  I  am  shamed — shamed  that  I  should  be  so  weak 
as  to  weep.  I  have  dreamed  indeed,  and  now  I  have  awak- 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"      111 

ened.  But  I  think  I  shall  remember  the  dream  all  my 
days." 

Then  she  resolutely  lifted  her  head  and  dried  her  eyes. 
She  rang  for  her  maid,  and  half  an  hour  later  she  sallied 
forth  to  dinner  with  smiling  eyes  and  laughing  lips,  bearing 
in  her  heart  a  dull,  aching  pain. 

When  Timothy  reached  the  door  of  the  ballroom  that 
evening  a  minuet  was  in  progress  and  he  was  forced  to 
mingle  with  the  little  group  gathered  at  the  entrance  till 
the  music  should  cease  and  he  could  make  his  progress 
down  the  room. 

As  he  waited,  he  became  aware  that  he  was  the  object  of 
many  curious  glances,  many  whispered  comments,  and  his 
eyes  gleamed  angrily  as  he  read  hostility  in  the  faces  about 
him.  He  put  up  his  glass  and  returned  the  contemptuous 
looks  of  the  men  with  a  baffling  smile  of  calm  assurance, 
but  in  his  heart  he  raged  at  their  insolence  and  vowed  an- 
other day  should  not  pass  before  he  called  them  to  account. 
It  seemed  to  him  monstrous  that  they  should  presume  to 
judge  him  for  his  refusal  to  allow  an  unwelcome  fight  to 
be  forced  upon  him.  The  whispers  of  the  women  troubled 
him  not  a  whit ;  he  had  never  been  wont  to  vex  his  soul  with 
the  fear  of  venomous  tongues ;  and  indeed  he  had  eyes  but 
for  one  woman  and  she  had  smiled  upon  him  that  morning 
in  token  of  absolute  trust. 

At  last  the  music  ceased,  the  dancers  stepped  aside  and  the 
way  lay  clear  for  him  to  the  top  of  the  room,  where  he  could 
dimly  discern  Celia,  seated  in  a  crowd  of  men. 

It  is  not  an  easy  task  for  a  man  to  walk  the  length  of  a 
room,  between  rows  of  staring  eyes,  offering  polite  greet- 
ings which  receive  no  acknowledgment  and  maintaining  an 
unruffled  calmness  of  demeanour.  But  Timothy  was  not 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

easily  abashed.  He  strolled  slowly  between  the  ranks  of  the 
dancers  swinging  his  glass,  and  bowing  punctiliously  to  all 
his  acquaintances,  while  the  twitch  of  his  lips  and  the 
twinkle  in  his  eyes  betrayed  the  fact  that  the  humour 
of  the  scene  was  not  lost  upon  him.  When  he  reached 
the  little  group  round  Celia  he  placed  a  long  strong 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Sir  Peter  Pemberton,  and  draw- 
ing him  good  humouredly  out  of  his  way  he  stepped  up  to 
her  side  with  an  air  of  such  confident  assurance  that  the 
men  around  her  could  only  gaze  at  him  in  mute  indignation. 

"Good-evening,  Miss  Winnington,"  he  said  gaily.  "You 
see  I  have  come  to  claim  the  fulfilment  of  your  promise." 

Celia  looked  up  at  him  ;  her  face  crimsoned. 

"I  recollect  no  promise,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  stiffly. 
"And  henceforth  I  shall  be  obliged  if  you  will  understand 
that  I  do  not  count  you  among  my  acquaintances." 

Timothy  stared  at  her  with  a  look  of  blank  astonishment. 
Then  he  drew  a  step  nearer  and  leaned  over  her  entreat- 


"Mistress  Celia,"  he  pleaded  softly,  "what  is  it?  Have  I 
been  so  unfortunate  as  to  offend  you  ?" 

Celia  looked  round  upon  the  group  of  men. 

"Gentlemen,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  must  beg  of  you  to 
protect  me  from  the  insolence  of  this  —  person's  attentions." 

Timothy  stepped  back  quickly  and  drew  himself  up.  His 
face  was  very  white. 

"It  will  not  be  necessary,  madam,"  he  said  quietly.  He 
gave  a  stiff  little  bow,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  marched 
down  the  room  with  head  erect  and  lips  pressed  firmly 
together  in  a  straight,  hard  line. 

As  he  walked  through  the  noisy,  chattering  groups  a 
sudden  silence  fell  upon  them  ;  they  drew  aside  to  leave  his 


"A  PELICAN  IN  THE  WILDERNESS"      113 

way  clear,  and  he  passed  out  of  the  room  as  he  had  entered 
it — alone. 

The  violins  struck  up  a  lively  country  dance.  Celia  turned 
to  the  youthful  Sir  Peter. 

"Shall  we  dance  this?"  she  asked  a  little  breathlessly. 

He  led  her  out  with  a  smile  of  proud  delight,  and  Celia, 
with  shining  eyes  and  smiling  lips,  danced,  danced,  danced 
the  evening  through  in  a  vain  effort  to  banish  from  her 
thoughts  the  picture  of  that  figure  with  white,  set  face 
standing  in  lonely  isolation  before  a  thousand  mocking  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"TRAPPED" 

TIMOTHY  CURTIS  walked  back  to  his  lodgings  with  a  hot 
pain  in  his  breast.  He  had  been  publicly  humiliated  before 
all  Bath,  but  that  troubled  him  comparatively  little ;  the 
pain  for  which  he  knew  no  remedy  lay  in  the  fact  that  Celia 
Winnington,  the  girl  in  whom  he  had  looked  to  find  his  ideal 
of  Womanhood,  had  changed  to  him  inexplicably  in  the 
course  of  six  hours. 

"Some  scandalous  tongue  has  wagged  about  my  name," 
he  argued  desperately.  "The  affair  of  the  duel  has  been 
misinterpreted  to  her.  She  believes  me  a  scoundrel ;  it  were 
unworthy  of  her  did  she  let  a  scoundrel  stay  in  her  com- 
pany. Ah !  she  is  right." 

He  mounted  the  stairs  to  his  rooms  with  a  slow  heavy  step 
and  flung  himself  wearily  back  into  his  chair.  Since  the 
morning  all  his  world  had  changed.  Twelve  hours  ago  he 
had  been  one  of  the  most  popular  men  in  Bath,  and  the 
favoured  suitor  of  the  most  adorable  woman  in  England; 
now  he  was  an  outcast  without  a  friend  in  the  city,  the  ob- 
ject of  open  scorn  and  contempt,  and  all  his  dreams  of  love 
and  happiness  were  shattered. 

All  this,  it  seemed,  had  come  upon  him  simply  because  he 
refused  to  draw  his  pistol  on  a  man  who  had  been  his  stanch- 
est  friend.  A  sudden  fury  mastered  him  at  the  thought.  By 
what  right  dared  they  condemn  him,  these  men  whom  he  had 
called  his  friends?  He  raged  at  their  insolence.  That  at 
least  should  be  remedied.  He  reached  out  his  hand  for  his 


"TRAPPED"  115 

rapier  and  drew  the  white  blade  carelessly  through  his 
fingers. 

"They  shall  have  their  lesson,"  he  muttered;  "and  that 
no  later  than  to-morrow.  They  question  my  right  to 
refuse  to  meet  Tracy?  I'll  have  them  learn  to  re- 
spect my  arm  if  they  don't  respect  my  judgment.  The 
insolents !" 

The  thought  of  action  cheered  his  heart  for  a  minute  or 
two.  He  resolved  to  go  down  to  the  coffee-houses  and 
taverns  at  the  breakfast  hour  on  the  morrow,  and  there 
demand  either  public  apology  from  the  men  who  had 
scorned  him  or  challenge  them  to  prove  their  words.  But 
he  would  need  a  friend  to  see  him  through  the  affair,  and 
at  that  thought  all  his  isolation  came  back  to  him  with  sud' 
den  force ;  he  realised  that  in  all  the  wide  city  of  Bath  he 
knew  no  man  who  would  bear  his  messages. 

A  weary  sense  of  loneliness  oppressed  him.  His  thoughts 
dwelt  on  Lord  Westerby,  his  nearest  relative ;  him,  too,  he 
had  probably  offended  beyond  hope  of  pardon,  since  he  had 
turned  aside  from  his  journey  to  Bristol. 

He  mused  upon  that  journey,  upon  the  errand  that 
prompted  it.  What  was  she  like,  he  wondered,  the  woman 
who  awaited  him  at  Bristol.  Was  she  kind?  Was  she 
gentle?  Would  she  trust  to  him  in  defiance  of  the  judg- 
ment of  her  world?  If  so,  such  love  were  surely  something 
for  a  man  whom  all  the  world  else  held  in  contempt. 

He  shifted  his  chair  and  stared  out  into  the  night,  where 
the  slender  crescent  of  the  waning  moon  trailed  her  white 
skirts  over  the  house-roofs.  Romance  had  indeed  led  him 
far  afield — not  in  the  sunny  bye-paths  he  had  hoped  for, 
but  up  the  rugged  steeps  of  life.  Should  he  follow  her 
further  along  the  untrodden  ways,  or  should  he  turn  his 


116  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

back  once  and  for  all  upon  his  dreams,  and  journeying  at 
last  to  Bristol  fulfil  his  uncle's  will? 

Far  on  into  the  night  he  sat,  weighing  his  choice,  while 
Reason  warred  against  Desire,  and  Despair  strove  with  the 
flicker  of  a  dying  Hope.  At  last,  when  the  dead  grey  light 
of  the  morning  pearled  the  eastern  sky,  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
the  contest  ended. 

"I'm  a  fool,"  he  muttered  with  a  half -shamed  laugh.  "But 
faith!  I'm  proud  of  my  folly.  She  bade  me  dare  to 
dream.  Shall  I  fear  to  do  so  even  though  my  dream  may 
know  no  fulfilment  ?  By  Heaven  !  no  !" 

He  drew  out  from  his  inner  pocket  the  bracelet  she  had 
given  him  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"I  have  vowed  to  her  my  service,  and  God  helping  me,  I'll 
never  stake  my  homage  at  any  lesser  shrine." 

So  he  resolved  with  a  half-amused  smile  at  his  sentiment. 

Then  he  laid  his  plans.  He  decided  to  ride  out  the  follow- 
ing evening  to  Farleigh,  a  few  miles  along  the  London 
Road,  and  take  up  his  quarters  at  the  sign  of  the  "Horse 
and  Hound."  So  he  would  be  sufficiently  near  to  fulfil  his 
engagements  with  his  enemies  and  communicate  with  Ade- 
laide Wimbourne,  yet  far  enough  from  Bath  to  avoid  any 
chance  of  annoying  Celia  by  his  presence. 

So  he  resolved ;  but  first  there  must  be  some  sword-play. 
His  eyes  gleamed,  his  heart  beat  gladly  at  the  thought. 

When  Timothy  left  his  lodgings,  a  figure  emerged  from 
the  shadow  of  the  houses  opposite  and  followed  him  at  a 
distance  of  a  hundred  yards  down  the  street.  He  was  a 
tall  cadaverous  creature,  arrayed  in  the  tattered  finery 
characteristic  of  the  many  led-captains  and  broken  men 
who  clung  to  the  outskirts  of  Bath  society  and  picked  up  a 
precarious  living  by  the  performance  of  such  useful  but 


"TRAPPED"  117 

questionable  deeds  as  were  deemed  too  unclean  for  the 
fingers  of  a  gentleman.  He  walked  with  a  pathetic  at- 
tempt at  a  swagger,  the  last  relic  of  bygone  prosperity,  and 
clattered  his  sword  on  the  pavement  with  a  ruffling  air. 

Captain  Owen  watched  Timothy  down  to  the  entrance  to 
Simpson's,  then  took  up  his  station  by  a  book-stall  at  the 
corner  of  the  Grove,  and  under  pretence  of  examining  the 
prints  and  political  squibs  there  displayed  awaited  the  re- 
appearance of  the  man  he  shadowed. 

Simpson's  Rooms  were  crowded  at  that  hour.  Timothy 
paused  at  the  door  and  looked  round  the  room.  At  a  table 
at  the  further  side  sat  Marcus  Ormonde,  Charles  Rathborne 
and  Lord  Stavely  at  breakfast,  while  Sir  Peter  Pemberton 
sat  astride  a  chair  behind  them  and  read  aloud  extracts  from 
the  morning  newsletter  for  their  edification.  Timothy 
slowly  crossed  the  room  and  seated  himself  at  the  table 
beside  them. 

"Good-morning,  Ormonde,"  he  said  coolly;  "what's  the 
latest  from  town?" 

Sir  Marcus  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  and  looked  at  him 
a  moment  with  a  curious  expression  in  his  eyes.  Then  he 
turned  his  shoulder  on  the  intruder  and  went  on  with  his 
breakfast.  Timothy  leaned  across  and  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"I  fear,  Sir  Marcus,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  are  growing 
a  trifle  deaf.  'Tis  an  infirmity  that  is  apt  to  lead  to  mis- 
understandings. You  would  do  well  to  seek  advice  on  the 
matter.  I  asked  you  the  latest  from  town." 

Marcus  slowly  poured  out  his  coffee.  "The  latest  from 
town,  Mr.  Curtis,  is  that:  'Pistols  are  demmed  risky,'  and 
a  man  who  has  respect  for  his  skin  will  do  wisely  to  have 
small  respect  for  his  honour." 


118  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Timothy  put  up  his  glass.  "Sir  Marcus,  I  find  your  news 
plaguy  insolent,"  he  said  softly.  "I  shall  be  obliged  if 
you  will  afford  me  an  opportunity  to  teach  you  a  better  in- 
terpretation." 

"He  who  fights  and  runs  away,  will  live  to  run  another 
day,"  hummed  Marcus.  "I  shall  give  you  no  such  oppor- 
tunity, Mr.  Curtis.  I  am  one  with  Sir  Tracy  Wimbourne  in 
disliking  to  have  my  arrangements  upset  at  the  eleventh 
hour." 

Timothy  flushed.  "Do  I  understand  that  you  will  not 
give  me  satisfaction?"  he  asked. 

"Your  understanding  is  not  at  fault,  sir,"  said  Marcus, 
lifting  his  cup. 

Timothy  stretched  out  a  long  strong  hand  and  laid  it 
firmly  on  his  arm.  "If  you  cannot  give  me  an  explanation 
for  your  refusal,  sir,"  he  said  coolly,  "I  shall  be  most  re- 
luctantly obliged  to  force  a  fight  upon  you." 

Marcus  made  a  vain  effort  to  lift  his  arm  or  to  put  down 
his  cup.  "Mr.  Curtis,  you  are  delaying  my  breakfast,"  he 
said  plaintively. 

"With  the  utmost  regret,  I  assure  you,"  said  Timothy 
politely.  "But  I  await  your  explanation." 

With  a  gesture  of  irritation  Marcus  turned  and  faced  him. 

"If  I  must  be  explicit,  sir,"  it  is  because  I  decline  to  cross 
swords  with  a  spy." 

Timothy  gave  a  jump  that  sent  the  coffee  splashing  ove; 
the  table-cloth.  He  released  Marcus's  arm  and  drew  back. 

"I  don't  understand  your  meaning,  sir,  but  'twould  seem 
it's  demmed  insolent,"  he  said  sharply.  "A  man  who  won't 
fight  should  have  more  care  of  his  words.  I  fear  I  shall  be 
put  to  the  unpleasant  necessity  of  waiting  upon  you  with 
a  horsewhip." 


"TRAPPED"  119 

Marcus's  eyes  gleamed.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  picked  up 
his  hat.  "Mr.  Curtis,  when  you  restore  the  papers  you  have 
stolen,  and  resign  your  present — er — remunerative  position 
under  Lord  Pelham,  I  will  He  willing  to  give  you  the  satis- 
faction you  demand.  Until  then,  I  shall  neither  talk  with 
you  nor  fight  with  you,  and  any  attempt  upon  your  part  to 
force  me  to  do  either  shall  be  dealt  with  by  my  grooms."  He 
threw  a  coin  to  the  waiter  and  strode  out  of  the  room. 

For  a  moment  it  looked  as  though  Timothy  would  follow 
him  and  force  him  to  an  encounter;  but  he  restrained  his 
temper  with  difficulty  and  turned  to  the  other  men  at  the 
table. 

"By  Gad !"  he  cried  huskily.  "Some  one  shall  answer  for 
this.  Who  is  the  author  of  this  damned  lie?" 

"The  gentleman  to  whom  we  owe  our  knowledge  of  your 
occupation  is  Sir  Tracy  Wimbourne,"  said  Rathborne. 

Tim  was  staggered.  "Tracy !"  So  that  is  the  meaning  in 
his  madness!  "Tracy!"  he  paused  a  moment  in  thought. 
Then  he  looked  round  the  ring  of  attentive  faces  and  smiled 
at  them  mockingly:  "It  seems,  gentlemen,  my  first  affair 
must  be  with  Sir  Tracy  Wimbourne.  When  I  have  dealt 
with  him  I  shall  be  at  liberty  to  receive  your  apologies." 

He  cocked  his  hat  on  one  side  and  strolled  out  of  the  room 
with  the  satisfied  smile  of  a  man  who  sees  his  way  clear  be- 
fore him. 

Charles  Rathborne  stared  after  his  retreating  figure. 
"Demme !"  he  muttered,  "if  I  don't  think  the  man  is  inno- 
cent." 

But  Timothy  when  he  had  passed  out  into  the  street 
paused  and  stared  about  him  doubtfully.  He  had  ceased  to 
smile,  his  path  was  not  so  clear  as  he  had  believed;  on  a 
sudden  he  remembered  the  promise  he  had  given  to  Adelaide. 


120  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Plague  take  the  woman !"  he  muttered ;  "I  must  fight 
Tracy  unless  he  withdraws  this  crazy  charge.  I'll  give  him 
ten  days  to  heal  his  leg  and  then  I  will  meet  him  with  the 
rapier.  I  take  it  I  can  be  sure  of  exacting  satisfaction  with 
that  without  risk  to  his  life.  That  should  satisfy  Lady 
Adelaide.  Now  to  find  a  man  to  carry  my  message." 

He  turned  and  walked  slowly  up  the  street.  Captain  Owen, 
waiting  patiently  by  the  book-stall,  pinned  his  attention 
upon  the  print  he  was  perusing  and  endeavoured  to  appear 
oblivious  to  all  passers-by.  Suddenly  Timothy  darted 
across  the  road  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  The  man 
leaped  a  good  yard  and  turned  a  guilty  face  to  his  ac- 
coster. 

"Good-morning,"  said  Timothy  cheerfully.  "Captain 
Owen,  I  believe.  I  am  Timothy  Curtis,  at  your  service. 
Will  you  do  me  the  favour,  sir,  to  carry  a  message  for  me?" 

The  man  stared  at  him  foolishly.  "A — a  message?"  he 
stuttered. 

"Yes,"  answered  Tim  impatiently.  "Such  a  message  as 
it  is  not  customary  for  a  gentleman  to  carry  for  himself. 
You  take  me?" 

A  look  of  relief  came  over  the  man's  face,  a  hint  of  cun- 
ning into  his  eyes.  "I'm  always  delighted  to  obleege  a 
gentleman  in  these  affairs,"  he  said.  "To  whom  am  I  to 
carry  your  message,  Mr.  Curtis  ?" 

"To  Sir  Tracy  Wimbourne." 

"Sir  Tracy  Wimbourne!"  Again  the  man's  surprise  be- 
trayed itself. 

"Yes,"  said  Tim  impatiently.    "You've  heard  of  him?" 

"  'S  blood  I  have,"  said  the  captain  thoughtfully.  "And 
the  nature  of  the  message  is ?" 

"A  challenge.    If  you  will  be  good  enough  to  accompany 


"TRAPPED"  121 

me  to  my  lodgings  I  will  write  a  note  for  you  to  deliver; 
and  I  shall  be  obliged  if  you  will  undertake  the  affair  for 
me." 

A  sudden  look  of  suspicion  crossed  the  man's  face. 

"And  in  the  meantime?"  he  said  slowly.  "What  will  you 
do?" 

"In  the  meantime  I  shall  ride  out  to  the  'Horse  and  Hound' 
at  Farleigh  and  there  await  you.  If  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  ride  out  after  me — at  my  expense — we  can  dine 
there  together  this  evening." 

The  look  of  suspicion  deepened.  "Why  do  you  leave 
Bath?"  he  asked  sharply. 

Timothy  stared  at  him  haughtily.  "For  my  own  pleasure, 
sir." 

The  captain  hesitated.  Then  he  laid  a  somewhat  grimy 
hand  on  Tim's  sleeve.  "Look  you,  Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said, 

"this  is  a  d foul  world  and  a  man  has  scurvy  tricks 

played  upon  him.  You  will  require  two  friends  in  this 
affair.  Mr.  Tricket,  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  shall  carry 
your  message  to  Sir  Tracy  and  bring  us  the  answer  to- 
morrow. Meanwhile,  I  will  ride  out  with  you  to  Farleigh 
to-night,  and  be  in  readiness  to  serve  you." 

For  a  moment  Timothy  stared  at  the  man  in  haughty  in- 
dignation, then  he  threw  back  his  head  and  broke  into  a 
shout  of  laughter. 

"Egad!  captain,"  he  said  admiringly.  "You're  plaguy 
determined  not  to  let  the  dinner  slip  through  your  fingers. 
Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  So  Sir  Tracy  has  my  message 
I  care  nothing  who  delivers  it." 

So  the  matter  was  settled.  Captain  Owen  despatched  an 
urchin  in  search  of  his  friend  Mr.  Tricket,  and  accom- 
panied Timothy  back  to  his  lodgings.  Within  an  hour  the 


122  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

note  was  intrusted  to  the  hand  of  the  brisk,  talkative 
little  man  who  had  answered  the  captain's  summons,  and 
Timothy  and  his  companion  were  ready  to  take  the 
road. 

Mr.  Tricket  watched  them  depart  from  the  shelter  of  an 
ale-house  window.  He  gazed  on  Captain  Owen's  pale  face 

and  long  figure  admiringly.  "D !  it,"  he  muttered; 

"he's  a  cunning  one.  Caught  and  cooked  him  already  and 
a  dinner  into  the  bargain !"  Then  he  slowly  tore  the  note 
to  Sir  Tracy  into  tiny  fragments,  and  betook  himself  to 
Lord  Stavely's  lodgings  at  the  Christopher  Inn. 

As  they  rode  out  of  the  narrow  streets  of  the  city  and  into 
the  wide  sunny  country  beyond,  Timothy's  heart  beat  high 
with  happiness.  He  looked  back  upon  his  depression  of  the 
previous  evening  with  wonder.  For  he  had  found  at  last 
the  key  to  the  riddle:  It  was  surely  none  other  than  this 
rumour  of  "spy"  that  had  reached  the  ears  of  Celia  Win- 
nington  and  caused  the  inexplicable  change  in  her  be- 
haviour toward  him.  He  was  glad  to  think  that  it  was  so. 

"  'Twould  have  been  unworthy  of  her  to  treat  me  other 
than  she  did,"  he  mused,  "believing  what  she  did.  And  it 
is  but  natural  she  should  take  Tracy's  word.  As  for 
Tracy — demme!  he's  clean  crazed." 

It  seemed  a  very  small  matter,  now  that  he  knew  the  accu- 
sation, to  clear  his  character  in  the  eyes  of  Celia.  He  was 
resolute  not  to  force  himself  again  upon  her  company:  he 
would  appeal  to  Adelaide  Wimbourne  to  help  him.  The 
future  was  bright ;  he  broke  into  merry  snatches  of  song  as 
he  rode,  and  chaffed  his  companion  upon  his  silence. 

They  reached  their  destination  about  two  o'clock.  The 
inn  was  an  old  Tudor  house  with  a  red-tiled  courtyard  and 
a  rambling  stone  building  behind  surmounted  by  a  high 


"TRAPPED" 

wooden  turret.  It  was  situated  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  from  the  village,  and  set  back  a  little  from 
the  highroad. 

They  dined  comfortably,  and  later  settled  down  to  Picquet 
to  wile  away  the  tedious  hours  of  the  evening.  Timothy 
was  puzzled  by  his  companion's  moroseness.  He  had  ex- 
pected the  wine  would  loosen  his  tongue.  On  the  contrary, 
he  was  surprisingly  abstemious ;  but  when  Timothy  saw  the 
glow  in  his  eyes  and  the  caress  of  his  hands  on  the  slips  of 
pasteboard,  he  understood  to  what  the  man  owed  his  fall. 

They  had  been  the  sole  guests  at  the  inn  for  dinner,  but 
about  nine  o'clock  they  heard  the  sound  of  arrivals  in  the 
courtyard.  The  newcomers,  however,  apparently  went 
straight  to  their  rooms,  for  they  saw  nothing  of  them. 

About  ten  o'clock  a  servant  entered  with  a  note  for  Tim- 
othy. A  man  had  left  it  at  the  door  and  departed  without 
waiting  for  an  answer. 

Timothy  took  it  with  a  muttered  explanation  of  surprise, 
and  broke  the  seal.  It  was  written  on  fine,  delicately  scented 
paper,  ornamented  in  one  corner  with  a  large  green  wafer 
representing  a  "W"  inscribed  in  a  circle  of  leaves. 

The  writing  was  brief: 

"Mr.  Curtis,  you  are  in  danger.  There  is  a  plot  afoot  to 
injure  you.  You  will  do  well  to  be  wary  o'  nights." 

That  was  all;  it  was  without  signature  and  written  in  a 
feminine  hand-writing,  not  too  well  formed,  and  possibly 
disguised. 

Timothy  looked  up  quickly  and  found  Captain  Owen's 
eyes  fixed  on  him  inquisitively.  He  grew  suddenly  weary 
of  this  watchfulness. 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"I'm  for  bed,"  he  said  shortly,  throwing  down  his  cards. 
"You've  seen  to  our  rooms,  eh?" 

Captain  Owen  nodded ;  rising  briskly  he  called  for  candles, 
and  led  the  way  upstairs.  They  parted  on  the  landing  with 
a  nod  and  Timothy  went  straight  to  his  room.  But  Cap- 
tain Owen  blew  out  his  candle  and  ensconced  himself  in  the 
shadow  between  two  high  presses,  from  which  he  could 
watch  the  door  of  the  other's  lodging. 

Timothy  took  a  cursory  survey  of  his  apartment.  It  was 
a  fair-sized  room  with  two  doors,  the  one  by  which  he  had 
entered  from  the  main  landing,  and  another,  he  discovered, 
opening  into  a  narrow  passage,  at  the  end  of  which  rose  the 
ladder-like  stairway  leading  to  the  turret.  Neither  door 
boasted  lock  or  bolt;  he  uttered  an  oath  of  annoyance  at 
that  discovery,  but  tilted  a  stout  chair  against  either  handle 
and  felt  secure  from  any  unexpected  entrance.  Then  he 
drew  out  the  scented  note  and  re-perused  it. 

The  warning  did  not  surprise  him.  The  point  of  interest 
to  him  lay  in  the  question  as  to  who  had  sent  it. 

For  a  little  time  he  had  thought  of  Celia  Winnington,  and 
his  heart  leaped  with  a  delicious  hope.  But  he  knew  it  was 
unlikely ;  hers  was  not  the  nature  to  stoop  to  any  conceal- 
ment. She  would  not  have  disguised  her  writing,  nor  would 
she  have  omitted  to  sign  her  name.  It  was  more  probably 
the  work  of  Adelaide  Wimbourne.  When  he  had  decided 
this  fact,  his  interest  in  the  note  vanished ;  he  tossed  it  into 
his  saddle-bags  and  prepared  himself  for  bed. 

With  a  recollection  of  the  warning,  he  tested  the  doors 
again,  then  assured  that  none  could  enter  without  his 
knowledge,  he  placed  sword  and  pistol  on  the  table  beside 
the  bed,  blew  out  his  candle,  and  in  five  minutes  was  fast 
asleep. 


"TRAPPED"  125 

He  was  awakened  suddenly  by  a  loud  crash,  but  whether 
the  sound  came  from  near  or  far  he  could  not  determine. 
Quickly  he  put  out  his  hand  to  reach  the  tinder-box  on  the 
table  beside  him  and  his  heart  gave  a  sudden  great  jump  of 
fear — for  the  table  was  empty,  sword,  pistol,  and  light  had 
gone! 

Timothy  sat  still  and  listened.  All  was  silent.  Then  he 
drew  himself  higher  up  in  bed  and  groped  about  in  vain 
search  for  some  sort  of  weapon  with  which  to  defend  him- 
self. He  could  find  nothing  save  the  iron  candle  stick, 
but  in  lieu  of  better  weapon,  he  gripped  it  firmly  and 
waited. 

There  was  no  sound,  but  suddenly  the  grey  blur  was  par- 
tially darkened  by  moving  shapes — something  was  entering 
the  room. 

Timothy  was  out  of  bed  in  an  instant  and  stood  crouching 
against  the  wall  in  the  darkness,  candle  stick  in  hand.  He 
dared  not  speak  for  fear  of  betraying  his  position,  but  his 
movements  had  been  heard.  The  moving  figures  stopped 

suddenly  and  he  heard  a  voice  mutter :  "D the  fellow ! 

He's  awake!" 

In  reality  only  a  few  seconds,  it  seemed  to  Timothy  an 
eternity  while  he  stood  waiting  in  the  darkness,  staring  in 
the  direction  of  the  doorway,  and  listening  to  every  creak. 
Then  a  low  mocking  laugh  broke  the  stillness,  and  Rory 
Winnington's  well-known  drawling  voice  muttered  impa- 
tiently : 

"Get  on,  you  fools.  Are  you  afraid  of  an  unarmed  man? 
Bring  a  light." 

There  was  a  shuffle  of  footsteps,  the  scraping  of  a  flint,  a 
spark,  and  then  the  steady  light  of  a  lamp  illumined  the 
room  and  Timothy  found  himself  facing  four  men,  their 


126  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

swords  in  their  hands  and  their  eyes  fixed  on  him  in  blank 
astonishment. 

Timothy  conceived  on  a  sudden  a  great  contempt  for  his 
candle  stick;  he  flung  it  down  and  grasped  the  leg  of  the 
little  table. 

"It's  no  use,  Curtis,"  said  Charles  Rathborne,  the  foremost 
man.  "We've  trapped  you." 

Timothy  edged  along  the  wall,  table  in  hand. 

"What  d'ye  want?"  he  snapped.  He  was  thinking  quickly. 
He  had  worked  his  way  along  the  wall  to  the  second  door 
and  stood  now  beside  it,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  opponents. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  man,"  urged  Rathborne.  "We  don't 
want  to  hurt  you." 

For  answer  Tim  suddenly  kicked  the  chair  away  from  the 
door,  wrenched  it  open  and  jumped  back  into  the  passage 
outside,  pulling  it  to  behind  him. 

There  was  a  sharp  sound  at  his  elbow.  He  wheeled  round, 
swinging  his  table.  He  saw  the  slither  of  a  blade  in  a  ray 
of  light  from  a  passage  window,  a  second  later  he  felt  a 
sharp  prick  in  his  shoulder. 

He  ran  backwards  along  the  passage  holding  the  table  be- 
fore him.  His  foot  touched  the  lowest  step  of  the  turret 
ladder.  He  bounded  up  it  as  his  door  was  wrenched  open 
and  the  four  men  ran  out  with  the  light.  The  ladder  was 
short  and  steep.  He  had  hoped  to  find  a  second  exit  from 
the  turret,  but  when  he  reached  the  wooden  platform  at  the 
top  of  the  steps  he  found  he  was  shut  in  by  round  wooden 
walls,  pierced  only  by  four  tiny  windows.  There  was  no 
escape. 

He  stood  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  grasping  the  table,  and 
peered  down  at  the  men  below  him.  Roger  Lee  was  the  fore- 
most now,  his  face  crimson  with  rage ;  he  stood  half  way  up 


"TRAPPED"  127 

the  ladder,  sword  in  hand,  vainly  endeavouring  to  lunge  at 
him  past  the  protecting  table.  The  other  men  crowded  at 
the  foot,  staring  up  at  them. 

Timothy  laughed  suddenly.  "I've  the  advantage  of  you, 
gentlemen,"  he  cried  gaily.  "You'll  not  deny  I've  the  ad- 
vantage." 

Lord  Stavely  seized  Lee's  shoulders  and  pulled  him  roughly 
back.  "That's  no  use,"  he  said  shortly.  "Rush  the  fellow." 

He  dropped  his  sword  and  made  a  grasp  at  the  table.  Tim 
laughed  again.  He  drew  back  for  a  second  and  then  rushed 
down  on  the  men  below  him  with  all  his  weight.  He  struck 
Stavely  fairly  with  the  centre  of  the  table  and  sent  him 
hurling  back  into  the  arms  of  the  others.  Then  he  stood 
half  way  down  the  steps,  and  peered  at  them  over  the  edge 
of  his  extemporised  shield. 

"Rush  me,  would  you?"  he  chuckled.    "Try  again." 

A  sudden  sharp  blow  struck  his  ankles  behind  through 
the  open  back  of  the  steps,  his  feet  shot  out  before  him,  he 
fell  heavily  on  his  back  and  he  and  the  table  slithered  to- 
gether down  the  stairs. 

He  clutched  wildly  at  the  rail,  he  made  a  desperate  effort 
to  rise,  but  they  were  on  him  in  a  moment.  He  fought  with 
fists  and  feet,  but  was  helpless  in  their  grasp.  He  had  a 
confused  vision  of  Captain  Owen  emerging  triumphantly 
from  behind  the  stairway  waving  a  long  broom ;  he  saw  a 
sword  flash  and  heard  a  voice — Rory's  he  thought — cry 
sharply :  "Don't  murder  the  fool."  Then  he  felt  a  sharp 
blow  on  the  head  and  lost  consciousness. 


CHAPTER  X 

"AT  CHARITY  FARM" 

WHEN  Timothy  Curtis  came  to  himself  he  was  lying  on 
the  settle  in  what  appeared  to  be  the  inner  kitchen  of  a 
rough  farm  house.  It  was  morning,  and  the  bright  sun- 
shine streamed  in  through  the  windows. 

Timothy  sat  up  and  stared  about  him.  His  head  ached 
and  his  body  felt  stiff  and  bruised ;  a  numb  sensation  about 
his  legs  drew  his  glance  in  that  direction.  He  found  his 
ankles  were  tightly  bound  with  cord.  His  wrists  were 
unfettered,  but  one  arm  was  fastened  to  his  side  in  a 
rough  sling.  He  put  up  his  hand  and  found  his  head 
was  bandaged ;  there  were  blood  stains  on  the  sleeve  of  his 
shirt. 

Slowly  a  recollection  of  the  events  of  the  previous  evening 
returned  to  him.  He  recalled  the  fight  on  the  stairway,  the 
faces  of  the  men  who  had  trapped  him,  he  knew  in  whose 
hands  his  fate  lay.  But  as  to  where  he  was  or  what  was  to 
befall  him  he  could  form  no  conjecture. 

There  were  sounds  in  the  room,  the  clatter  of  cups  and 
knives,  some  one  was  breakfasting  at  a  table  behind  the 
settle.  He  stooped  and  tugged  at  the  thongs  that  bound  his 
ankles,  but  could  not  loose  them  with  one  hand.  He  gave  up 
the  attempt,  struggled  awkwardly  to  his  feet  and  dragged 
himself  round  the  end  of  the  seat. 

At  the  table  in  the  window  three  men  sat  at  breakfast,  their 
backs  toward  him.  They  wore  their  swords  and  their 
pistols  lay  on  the  table  beside  them.  Timothy  recognised 


"AT  CHARITY  FARM"  129 

three  of  his  opponents  of  the  previous  evening  and  his  eyes 
gleamed  angrily. 

"Good-morning,"  he  said  sharply. 

The  men  wheeled  in  their  chairs  and  stared  at  him. 

"Gad!"  exclaimed  Roger  Lee;  "he's  cheated  the  devil, 
after  all." 

Tim  hopped  awkwardly  to  the  table. 

"Give  me  something  to  drink,"  he  said  curtly ;  "and  dem- 
me !  take  these  cursed  things  off  my  legs ;  I  can't  run  away 

yet." 

After  a  second's  hesitation,  Charles  Rathborne  stooped 
and  cut  the  thongs  that  bound  his  ankles,  and  Timothy 
staggered  to  a  chair  grimacing  with  pain  as  the  blood 
rushed  back  to  his  benumbed  limbs.  Roger  Lee  poured  out 
a  cup  of  strong  coffee  and  pushed  it  across  the  table  toward 
him ;  he  drank  greedily  and  put  down  the  cup  with  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction. 

"Now,"  he  drawled  softly,  "I'll  be  obliged  if  you'll  tell 
me  what's  the  meaning  of  all  this." 

Lee  filled  up  his  cup  again.  "You  know  well  enough,"  he 
said  shortly. 

"Know !  Demme,  if  I  do.  I  suppose  'tis  concerned  with 
this  cock-and-bull  story  of  espionage  Tracy  Wimbourne  has 
devised,  but  hang  me  if  I  understand  what  you're  up  to 
now." 

Lord  Stavely  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "This  affectation  of 
ignorance  is  wearisome,  Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said  stiffly.  "We've 
a  little  affair  on  hand  in  which  we  do  not  wish  your — er — 
connivance.  You've  been  proved  a  spy,  and  if  you  had 
your  deserts  you  should  hang  from  yonder  beam.  You  are 
fortunate  that  we  choose  another  way  to  silence  you.  We 
purpose  to  keep  you  close  until  the  affair  is  ended  and  then 


ISO  THE  PAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

hand  you  over  to  the  judgment  of  the  one  whom  you  have 
most  injured." 

"Keep  me  close?    Where?" 

"Here — until  to-night.  Hereafter  in  the  Scots  Theo- 
logical College  in  Paris.  You  have  the  choice  whether  you 
will  journey  there  in  comfort  as  a  gentleman  'on  parole'; 
or  in — er — considerable  discomfort  as  a  prisoner." 

Tim  did  not  hesitate  long;  whatever  the  discomfort,  he 
had  no  mind  to  go  tamely  to  prison.  He  did  not  calculate 
his  chance  of  escape  was  great,  but  he  was  resolved  to  make 
the  most  of  it. 

"I'll  give  you  no  parole,"  he  said  coolly.  "Truth  to  tell, 
gentlemen,  I'm  interested  to  see  how  you  take  me  there. 
We'll  have  an  eventful  journey,  I'm  thinking." 

Stavely  looked  across  at  Lee.     "That  means  three  of  us." 

"Three!"  cried  Tim  indignantly;  "faith,  sir,  you  under- 
rate me !" 

The  door  opened  suddenly  and  a  sturdy  six-foot  farmer 
entered.  Tim  sprang  toward  him  quickly,  then  fell  back 
with  a  disappointed  air.  "Ah !"  he  said ;  "member  of  your 
company,  I  see —  Then  I'll  not  trouble  him." 

The  farmer  grinned.  He  crossed  to  Stavely  and  said 
something  softly. 

"What?    It's  time  to  cage  him,  eh?"  asked  Lee. 

"Safer,  sir,"  answered  the  farmer.  "We're  known  pretty 
well  hereabouts  and  not  troubled  much  with  visitors,  but  on 
a  farm  you  never  can  be  sure.  And  at  times  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  from  Bath  call  here  for  a  glass  of  milk  when 
they  ride  on  the  down." 

Tim  pricked  up  his  ears.  He  had  hitherto  had  no  glim- 
mering of  an  idea  where  he  was ;  the  windows  looked  on  to  a 
courtyard  beyond  which  was  a  thick  wood.  But  from  the 


"AT  CHARITY  FARM"  131 

man's  words  it  seemed  he  was  not  many  miles  from  the 
city,  possibly  at  one  of  the  farms  on  the  hill  behind  Claver- 
ton  Down. 

Rathborne  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"If  you  refuse  your  parole,  Curtis,  you  must  be  prepared 
for — forcible  measures,"  he  said  warningly.  "We  run  no 
risks." 

Tim  nodded,  "I  take  you,  Charlie.  Were  I  in  your  case, 
I'd  be  plaguy  prudent." 

Rathborne  walked  round  the  settle  to  the  side  of  the  open 
hearth.  Pie  touched  a  spring  concealed  behind  one  of  the 
hearthstones  and  the  wainscot  by  the  fireplace  sprang  apart 
revealing  a  narrow  aperture  about  two  inches  wide.  He 
inserted  his  fingers,  and  with  a  slight  jerk  pulled  back  the 
panelling  until  the  gap  was  wide  enough  to  admit  of  a  man. 
A  large  cavity  was  revealed,  evidently  an  old  hiding  hole, 
dimly  lighted  by  a  small  window  opening  into  the  chimney 
about  eight  feet  up.  The  place  was  large,  extending  all 
round  the  back  of  the  chimney,  but  it  was  almost  filled  with 
strong  wooden  cases  and  neatly  stacked  bundles  of  arms. 

Timothy  eyed  the  place  queerly  and  hesitated.  Then  he 
shook  his  head :  "I'll  give  you  no  parole,"  he  repeated.  "I'll 
escape  you  yet." 

"Tie  him  up  then,"  said  Lee  shortly. 

Timothy  grimaced  sourly  as  they  bound  him  hand  and 
foot,  but  he  made  no  useless  attempt  at  resistance.  Only 
when  they  produced  a  gag  did  he  raise  objection. 

"Plague  take  it,  that's  too  much !"  he  muttered.  "Charlie, 
I'll  give  you  my  word  of  honour,  I'll  not  speak  or  shout  or 
make  any  sign  while  I'm  in  there,  but  hang  me,  if  I'll  en- 
dure being  gagged  for  six  mortal  hours." 

"Don't  trust  him,"  said  Stavely  quickly. 


132  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Tim's  eyes  gleamed  savagely.  He  turned  to  Rathborne 
and  looked  him  in  the  face.  "My  word,  Charlie,"  he  said 
quietly. 

Rathborne  nodded.  "I  will  take  it.  I  go  surety  for  him." 

No  further  objection  was  raised.  Tim  was  lifted  into  the 
hiding  hole  and  the  wainscot  shot  back  upon  him. 

He  sat  down  on  one  of  the  cases  with  a  whimsical  shrug 
of  resignation  and  prepared  to  endure  as  patiently  as  might 
be  his  weary  hours  of  captivity.  He  could  hear  the  conver- 
sation on  the  other  side  of  the  wainscot  and  gathered  that 
Stavely  and  Lee  purposed  riding  to  Bath  to  report,  while 
Rathborne  was  to  remain  on  guard  at  the  farm.  Presently 
the  voices  were  silenced,  and  he  conjectured  that  the  men 
had  left  the  room. 

The  time  dragged  on.  His  wounded  shoulder  smarted,  his 
wrists  and  ankles  ached.  He  shifted  his  seat  restlessly. 

"I'd  give  my  ears  to  have  ten  minutes'  conversation  with 
Tracy  now,"  he  muttered  savagely. 

Suddenly  he  sat  upright  and  listened  eagerly.  People  had 
entered  the  room  and  were  drawing  near  his  hiding  place. 

Then  a  low,  well-known  voice  broke  the  stillness  and  his 
heart  leaped  with  a  sudden  amazed  delight.  Celia  Winning- 
ton  was  close  to  the  fireplace,  separated  from  him  only  by 
the  thin  wall  of  wainscot. 

It  was  evident  from  the  sound  that  she  was  sitting  on  the 
settle ;  she  spoke  with  little  breathless  gasps  of  laughter  as 
though  she  had  been  running. 

"Lud,  Sir  Peter,  what  a  storm  of  rain !  Who  would  have 
expected  it  when  we  set  out.  Whither  did  the  others  ride?" 

"I  don't  know,  madam,"  answered  Peter  Pemberton. 
"When  the  storm  broke  I  seized  your  rein  and  dashed  for 
the  nearest  shelter." 


"AT  CHARITY  FARM"  133 

"And  bundled  me  off  my  horse  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wood  and  made  me  run  for  it,"  laughed  Celia.  "A  monstrous 
gallant  proceeding,  I  vow." 

"But,  madam,  'twas  the  simplest  way.  The  wood  is  too 
thick  for  the  horses  and  'twas  a  long  ride  round  to  the 
road,"  argued  Sir  Peier  anxiously. 

"Well,  I  forgive  you.  But  do  you  go  back  now  and  bring 
the  poor  beasts  into  shelter." 

"And  leave  you  alone,  madam?" 

"Faith !  what  else  ?  I  presume  this  is  no  ogre's  hole.  Where 
are  we?" 

"Charity  Farm — belongs  to  the  three  Dawson  brothers,  of 
whom,  no  doubt,  you've  heard." 

"Not  I,"  laughed  Celia.    "Who  are  they?" 

"Corinthians,  madam — the  finest  prize  fighters  in  the 
country,  when  they  were  younger.  It's  rumoured  their 
neighbours  find  them  surly,  but  they  are  deemed  hospitable 
to  sports,  and  half  the — er — the  affairs  of  honour  in  Bath 
take  place  on  their  land." 

Celia  laughed  softly.  "Faith,  Sir  Peter,  you're  full  of 
gossip.  I  vow  I  would  love  to  meet  our  hosts,  but  it  seems 
they  are  afield  to-day.  And  now,  for  pity's  sake  go  and 
bring  in  the  poor  horses  and  see  them  stabled;  I  shall  not 
stir  from  here  till  the  rain  ceases." 

"At  your  bidding,  madam.  I'll  be  back  anon.  Why, 
Rathborne — what  brings  you  here  ?" 

Rathborne  had  entered  quickly  and  stopped  with  a  sharp 
exclamation  of  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  Celia. 

"Miss  Winnington!    You  here?" 

"Storm  bound,  Sir  Charles,"  laughed  Celia.  "Are  you  in 
the  same  plight?" 

"An  affair?"  asked  Peter,  with  a  knowing  wink.     "Yes, 


154  THE  FAIR  MOON  OP  BATH 

yes,  Miss  Winnington ;  I  will  not  delay.  'Tis  lucky  Rath- 
borne's  here,  to  bear  you  company  till  I  return." 

Sir  Peter  departed  noisily.  There  was  a  sudden  silence  in 
the  room.  Tim  muttered  impatiently  under  his  breath;  it 
maddened  him  to  know  Celia  so  near  and  to  be  obliged  in 
honour  not  to  reveal  his  presence.  The  silence  irked  him ; 
he  pined  to  know  what  was  passing  in  glances  between  the 
two  in  the  room. 

Rathborne  crossed  over  to  Celia's  side ;  his  face  was  white 
and  his  eyes  eager.  It  seemed  he  had  entirely  forgotten 
Tim's  presence  behind  the  wainscot,  forgotten  all  save  the 
sudden  unexpected  joy  of  finding  himself  alone  with  the 
woman  he  adored. 

"Miss  Winnington,"  he  said  simply,  "some  might  judge 
this  time  inopportune  and  my  bluntness  ungallant — if  it  be 
so,  I  crave  your  forgiveness.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  if  a 
man's  whole  heart  is  full  of  one  thought,  it  matters  little 
what  time  or  manner  he  chooses  for  imparting  it.  By  the 
kindness  of  Heaven  I  find  you  here  alone,  let  me  take  Hea- 
ven's gift  and  tell  you  my  thought." 

Celia  rose  quickly  to  her  feet. 

"Sir  Charles,"  she  pleaded  gently,  holding  out  her  hand, 
"is  it  not  written  'Silence  is  golden'?" 

"No,  madam,"  he  answered  quickly.  "Let  me  speak;  'tis 
kinder.  Ah!  I  love  you  so.  Since  that  day  I  first  saw 
you  driving  into  Bath  I  have  known  nothing  clearly  save 
that  I  love  you.  Is  there  no  hope  for  me — Celia?" 

Celia  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his  arm,  there  were  tears  of 
pity  in  her  eyes.  "Sir  Charles,"  she  said  sadly,  "I  am  a 
most  unhappy  girl.  For  you  offer  me  that  which  a  woman 
should  be  proud  to  accept  and  yet  humble  in  accepting — 
but  I  cannot  take  your  gift." 


"AT  CHARITY  FARM"  135 

"You  cannot  madam?  Ah!  but  I  ask  so  little  in  return. 
Who  am  I  to  dream  that  I  can  win  all  your  heart?  I  will 
be  content  with  the  right  to  try  to  win  it." 

She  hesitated,  then  she  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  whispered ;  "no,  it  is  impossible.  I  cannot  take 
all  and  give  nothing  in  return." 

"And  you  have  nothing  to  give  me?"  he  pleaded — "noth- 
ing?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  "Nothing,  save  this:  that  all 
my  life  through  I  shall  go  the  gladlier  for  the  memory  of 
the  love  you  have  offered  me  to-day." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  hand.  "It  should  be  enough," 
he  said  softly ;  "but,  ah !  madam,  hope  dies  hard.  Is — I 
have  no  right  to  ask  it — but  is  your  heart  already  given  ?" 

She  turned  away  and  stood  a  moment  silent.  "I  do  not 
know,"  she  said  slowly,  "I  do  not  know.  Yet  if  it  be  possible 
for  a  woman  to  love  where  she  loathes,  to  hold  sweet  what 
it  shames  her  to  remember,  then — Heaven  pity  me — it  is." 

Charles  Rathborne  stared  at  her  a  moment  doubtfully. 
Then  he  clenched  his  fists  in  sudden  enlightenment. 

"He  is  not  worthy  of  you,  madam,"  he  said  hotly. 

She  lifted  her  hand  to  stay  his  anger.  "I  know  it,  sir," 
she  said  proudly.  "And  you  may  rest  assured  that,  know- 
ing it,  I  had  rather  live  all  my  life  through  unloved,  un- 
honoured,  than  suffer  that  man  to  soil  so  much  as  the  edge 
of  my  robe  by  the  pollution  of  his  touch." 

A  sudden  light  of  hope  gleamed  in  his  eyes.  "Madam," 
he  pleaded,  "this  being  so,  will  you  not  give  me  the  right 
to  protect  you 

"Against  myself?"  she  interrupted,  with  a  little  bitter 
smile.  "Ah !  not  to-day,  not  to-day — indeed  you  must  not 
press  me  more  to-day,  sir ;  I  cannot  bear  it." 


136  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Madam,  I  have  been  thoughtless,"  he  cried  in  quick 
contrition.  "But  it  is  easier  for  a  man  to  see  his  way  with 
only  a  glimmer  of  hope  than  in  the  darkness  of  despair. 
Forgive  me.  I  will  leave  you  now  and  we  will  speak  of  this 
later." 

Kissing  her  hand  again  he  turned  and  left  the  room, 
closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Celia  stood  a  moment  motionless,  then  with  a  long  shivering 
sigh  of  utter  weariness  she  leaned  her  arms  on  the  high 
chimney  piece,  bowed  her  head  and  broke  into  bitter  weep- 
ing. 

"Ah!"  she  whispered;  "I  love  him,  I  love  him — and  the 
shame  of  it  will  kill  me." 

Timothy,  standing  a  yard  away  from  her  inside  the  wain- 
scot, drew  in  his  breath  with  a  sharp  sigh  of  pain  when  her 
sobs  broke  the  stilllness,  and  ground  his  teeth  savagely  at 
the  impotence  of  his  position.  He  had  had  no  choice  save 
to  listen  to  every  word  of  her  conversation  with  Rathborne, 
and  truth  to  tell,  he  had  not  been  sorry  for  the  necessity 
that  forced  him  to  overhear  it.  He  winced  horribly  at  the 
scorn  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke  of  his  unworthiness,  but 
there  was  sweetness  in  the  bitter,  for  now  he  knew  that  she 
lovecl  him,  could  he  but  prove  to  her  his  innocence. 

But  when  the  helpless  sobs  continued  so  near  him,  a  sud- 
den savage  fury  seized  him.  His  honour  bound  him  to  give 
no  word  or  sign  that  he  was  there,  but  no  vow  held  him  from 
making  his  escape  therefrom  could  he  contrive  it.  In 
desperation  he  strained  at  his  bonds  till  his  sinews  cracked 
and  the  blood  started  afresh  from  the  wound  in  his  shoulder. 
He  stooped  and  gnawed  savagely  at  the  cords  that  held 
him ;  blindly  he  felt  with  his  fettered  hands  for  a  chink  in 
the  wooden  wall. 


"AT  CHARITY  FARM"  137 

And  then  suddenly,  whether  some  unconscious  movement 
of  hers  touched  the  spring,  or  whether  it  had  never  been 
securely  locked  and  his  groping  fingers  caught  in  the  panel, 
the  catch  gave  and  the  wainscot  slowly  opened  the  width  of 
two  inches. 

Celia  heard  the  click  of  the  latch  and  lifted  her  head ;  she 
gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise  at  sight  of  the  opening.  The 
curiosity  mastered  her;  she  inserted  her  fingers  into  the 
aperture  and  jerked  at  the  panel.  It  slipped  back  and 
she  found  herself  suddenly  face  to  face  with  Timothy  Cur- 
tis. 

She  started  back  with  a  little  cry  of  terror  and  stood 
gazing  at  him  in  wide-eyed  amazement.  Timothy  was 
purple  with  his  exertions,  but  he  in  no  wise  lost  his  wits ;  he 
hurled  himself  out  of  the  opening,  staggered,  steadied  him- 
self against  the  settle  and  stood  upright,  bound  still  hand 
and  foot,  but  free  from  his  prison  and  close  to  Celia's  side. 

For  one  long  moment  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 
silently ;  then  Celia  turned  away  and  walked  slowly  toward 
the  door. 

Timothy  gave  a  little  cry  of  pain.  "Madam !"  he  pleaded 
desperately.  "Surely  women  should  be  merciful?" 

Slowly,  unwillingly  she  turned  again  and  faced  him. 

"Should  women  show  pity  to  a  traitor?"  she  asked. 

"Rather  pity  than  condemn  him  unheard,"  he  answered 
quickly. 

She  started,  then  very  slowly  she  drew  a  few  steps  nearer. 

"Have  you  any  excuse?"  she  asked,  then  she  shook  her 
head  quickly.  "No — no — there  is,  there  can  be  no  justifi- 
cation for  treachery." 

"Yet  in  justice  you  will  listen  to  me,  madam,  he  said 
firmly. 


138  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

She  did  not  answer,  but  she  went  a  few  steps  nearer  to  him, 
drawn  by  his  glance,  and  stood  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"You  have  been  told,  madam,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  I  am 
the  blackest-hearted  traitor  that  ever  played  the  Judas  to 
his  friends.  But  will  you  tell  me  why  you  have  believed  it?" 

She  started.  "Why,  sir?  Because  I  have  been  told  by  one 
whose  truth  and  loyalty  I  have  no  right  to  doubt." 

"And  what  right  have  you  to  doubt  mine?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  long  searching  glance.  "Ah  I 
how  can  I  know  -the  truth  ?"  she  cried.  "Tracy  loved  you, 
but  he  believes  you  guilty — all  the  world  believes  it." 

"But  you,  madam,  in  your  heart  do  not  believe  it." 

She  stood  silent.  Timothy  strained  impatiently  at  his 
bonds.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  realised  the  advantages 
of  gesture.  It  is  indeed  difficult  for  a  man  to  plead  his  case 
when  he  can  neither  move  a  step  nor  lift  a  hand. 

"Listen,  madam,"  he  continued  desperately.  "There  may 
be  men  who  could  spy  upon  their  friends  and  find  justifica- 
tion for  the  act  in  their  own  hands — I  do  not  know,  the 
world  holds  many  kinds  of  men,  and  none  of  us,  I  warrant, 
bear  no  stain  upon  our  shields.  But  can  you  believe  that 
any  man  could  talk  with  you  as  we  have  talked  together, 
could  love  you  as  I  love  you,  and  yet  could  hide  in  his  heart 
such  base  treachery?  Surely,  madam,  God  Himself  would 
rather  strike  him  dead." 

She  lifted  to  him  a  face  full  of  doubt  and  distress,  clasp- 
ing her  white  hands  in  the  eager  little  gesture  he  knew  so 
well. 

"Ah!  it  is  so  difficult  for  me  to  judge  the  right,"  she 
cried.  "We  women  are  so  easily  deceived,  and  how  could 
Tracy  be  so  mistaken?  Do  you  not  see  how  hard  it  is  for 
me?" 


"AT  CHARITY  FARM"  139 

His  eyes  softened  at  sight  of  her  distress. 

"Madam,  I  wouldn't  presume  to  blame  you,"  he  said 
quickly.  "Who  am  I  that  I  should  dare  to  count  upon 
your  faith  ?  But — your  belief  in  my  honour  is  life  or  death 
to  me.  Were  I  but  free  I  could  track  this  lie  to  its  source, 
and  lay  hands  upon  the  real  spy.  But  now,  plague  take  it, 
I'm  trapped,  trapped,  and  helpless  to  clear  myself." 

"Ah !  yes,"  she  said  slowly ;  "you  are  a  prisoner.  Are 
they — are  they  going  to  kill  you?" 

"What  do  I  care  what  they  do,"  he  muttered  miserably, 
"if  I  cannot  win  your  belief?" 

She  looked  once  more  into  his  eyes,  then  turned  and  picked 
up  Rathborne's  sword,  which  lay  on  the  table.  Crossing  to 
his  side  she  cut  the  ropes  that  bound  his  hands  and  feet. 

"You  are  free,"  she  said  simply. 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  with  a  cry  of  joy.  "Ah!  you 
believe  in  me,  madam?" 

"No,"  she  said  slowly;  "not  yet.  I — I  dare  not.  But 
prove  your  innocence — find  the  spy  of  whom  Tracy  has 
been  warned,  and  I  will  beg  your  forgiveness  for  a  cow- 
ardice my  weakness  cannot  help." 

"Forgiveness  !"  he  laughed  softly ;  "I  would  not  have  your 
trust  on  any  easier  terms.  But  I  too  would  ask  of  you 
one  little  thing,"  he  continued  wistfully.  "Ah!  madam, 
don't  again  beg  others  to  protect  you  from  me — for  indeed 
you  may  rest  confident  I  will  not  trouble  you  until  I  can 
prove  my  right  to  do  so.  Do  not  fear  me,  madam." 

She  flushed  and  dropped  her  eyes  before  his  glance. 

"I  do  not  fear  you,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  took  the  sword  from  her  and  drew  the  blade  lovingly 
through  his  fingers.  "Now  I'm  myself  again,"  he  cried 
joyously.  "Never  fear,  madam,  I  will  prove  worthy  of 


140  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

your  trust.  Now — will  you  tell  me  the  points  of  Tracy's — 
accusation." 

She  hesitated.  "I  do  not  know  the  story  in  full,  sir,  and 
Adelaide  will  not  speak  of  it.  But  it  seems  Tracy  believes 
you  to  have  accepted  Lord  Pelham's  bribe ;  and  further,  cer- 
tain secret  papers  which  Adelaide  was  carrying  for  Tracy 
to  be  delivered  in  Bath  were  stolen  that  night  we  rested  at 
the  inn,  and  Adelaide  says  you  must  have  taken  them,  as 
none  but  you  knew  they  were  in  her  possession." 

"Lady  Wimbourne  says  that  ?"  he  cried  in  amaze. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  widened  with  fear.  "Hush !"  she  said ; 
"some  one  is  coming !" 

Sir  Peter's  voice  sounded  in  the  outer  room. 

"They  must  not  know  you  have  freed  me,"  cried  Tim.  He 
tucked  the  sword  under  his  arm,  picked  up  the  ropes,  and 
springing  back  into  his  hiding  place  shut  the  wainscot  be- 
hind him  just  as  Sir  Peter  entered  the  room. 

"The  rain  has  ceased,  Miss  Winnington,  and  the  horses 
are  here,"  cried  Peter.  "Where  is  Charles  ?" 

"He  left  me  some  time  since,"  answered  Celia  vaguely. 

"The  monstrous  ungallant  fellow,"  cried  Peter  indig- 
nantly. "But  perhaps  his  affair  would  not  wait.  Shall 
we  be  stirring,  madam  ?" 

Timothy  heard  the  sound  of  departure.  Then  Rathborne's 
voice  echoed  in  the  outer  room,  giving  an  order.  He  en- 
tered and  crossing  to  the  settle  sat  down  with  a  sigh. 

Timothy  laid  his  plans  quickly.  He  must  effect  his  escape 
before  the  others  returned,  or  he  might  find  it  impossible  if, 
as  he  expected,  their  pistols  were  charged.  He  tapped 
lightly  on  the  wainscot.  "Charlie,  Charlie,"  he  whispered, 
"let  me  out."  Rathborne  sprang  to  his  feet  and  opened 
the  panel.  In  a  second  Tim  was  on  him;  they  struggled 


"AT  CHARITY  FARM"  141 

together.  Rathborne  was  taken  by  surprise  and  for  the 
moment  Timothy,  though  the  smaller  man,  had  the  advan- 
tage. He  jerked  up  his  sword  to  the  other's  throat. 
"Speak  and  you're  a  dead  man,"  he  whispered  breathlessly. 

For  answer  Rathborne  smiled.  "I'm  your  surety,"  he  said. 
He  opened  his  mouth  and  roared  for  help. 

Timothy  dropped  his  point.  "You  fool!"  he  said  re- 
proachfully. "Now  I  must  run  for  it." 

The  door  burst  open,  two  enormous  men  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  Timothy  dashed  for  the  open  window  and 
hurled  himself  across  the  little  courtyard.  The  wall  was 
high  but  roughly  built,  he  was  easily  able  to  obtain  foot- 
hold, and  scrambled  up,  holding  his  sword  between  his 
teeth. 

A  pistol  clicked  and  a  bullet  grazed  his  cheek ;  then  a  man 
rushed  across  the  yard  and  seized  his  foot.  But  already  he 
had  his  knee  over  the  coping ;  he  swung  free  his  sword  arm 
and  lunged  at  his  opponent.  The  man  jumped  back  and 
Tim  tumbled  over  into  the  wood  on  the  other  side. 

He  was  on  his  feet  in  a  second  and  ran  through  the  wood 
gasping  for  breath  and  tripping  over  roots  and  stumps. 
Even  when  clear  of  the  wood  and  out  on  the  open  downs 
he  did  not  pause,  so  fearful  was  he  of  recapture.  He  ran 
on  until  he  dropped  down  on  to  a  stretch  of  the  Bradford 
Road,  luckily  at  the  time  empty  of  passers-by,  and  then 
at  last  he  stopped,  realising  that,  unless  he  would  be  ac- 
cused of  lunacy,  he  must  moderate  his  pace  and  sober  his 
appearance.  He  was  without  hat  or  coat,  his  shoulder  and 
forehead  were  bleeding,  and  his  sword  was  unsheathed  in 
his  hand. 

He  stepped  down  to  a  little  stream  in  the  meadow  border- 
ing the  road,  bathed  his  face,  and  succeeded  in  checking 


the  bleeding  in  his  shoulder  wound.  Then,  feeling  a  trifle 
more  presentable,  he  walked  back  to  the  road. 

A  groom  exercising  two  horses  appeared,  riding  one  and 
leading  the  other.  Timothy  stepped  up  to  him  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  rein  of  the  saddle-horse. 

"Whose  horses  are  these?"  he  asked  coolly. 

The  man  stared  at  him  amazedly.  Tim  repeated  his 
question. 

"Sir  Marcus  Ormonde's,"  muttered  the  man,  still  staring. 

Tim  chuckled.  "So?  One  of  his  grooms?  Oblige  me, 
my  man,  by  dismounting  and  allowing  me  to  ride  back  to 
Bath." 

"I'll  not.  Let  me  go,  d you!"  cried  the  groom  in- 
dignantly, trying  to  shake  him  off;  but  the  led  horse  was 
restive,  he  could  not  free  his  rein. 

"I  think  you  will,"  said  Timothy  coolly,  seizing  his  foot. 
"A  whip  is  no  match  for  a  sword,  and  the  road  is  no  soft 
place  to  fall  on." 

With  an  oath  the  groom  slipped  to  the  ground  and  Tim- 
othy sprang  to  the  saddle.  "You'll  find  this  horse  at  the 
stables  by  the  east  gate,"  he  said.  "But  first  go  to  Sir 
Marcus  and  tell  him  that  Mr.  Curtis  has  found  his  first 
encounter  with  the  grooms  monstrous  opportune." 

He  dug  his  heels  into  the  horse's  flanks  and  galloped 
toward  Bath,  leaving  the  groom  cursing  in  the  road. 

When  he  reached  Bath,  he  overtook  a  heavy  travelling 
coach  just  entering  the  city,  and  drew  rein  to  allow  it  to 
pass  through  the  gate.  A  woman,  seated  with  her  back  to 
the  horses,  looked  up  at  him  curiously  and  their  eyes  met. 
She  was  very  fair,  with  copper-coloured  hair  and  strange 
eyes,  the  colour  of  burnt  umber.  It  seemed  to  Timothy  as 
he  looked  at  her  that  the  light  of  recognition  dawned  in  her 


"AT  CHARITY  FARM"  143 

face  and  she  gave  a  little  smile  of  greeting;  but  before  he 
could  be  sure  the  coach  passed  on  its  way,  and  he  rode  on 
through  devious  streets  to  his  lodging,  puzzling  his  brains 
over  her  identity. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS" 

TIMOTHY  CURTIS  kept  his  room  for  three  days.  The 
chirurgeon  who  dressed  his  wound  advised  it,  and  indeed 
Tim  had  little  wish  to  oppose  his  directions.  As  he  sat 
alone  through  the  long  day,  racking  his  brains  for  one  clear 
thread  to  guide  him  through  the  tangled  skein  of  circum- 
stances, there  flashed  again  and  again  across  his  mind  a  dark 
suspicion.  He  dismissed  it  angrily,  but  still  it  returned, 
and  each  time  with  clearer,  with  more  circumstantial,  details. 
Was  it  not  possible  that  the  traitor,  the  thief  of  the  papers, 
was  Adelaide  Wimbourne  herself? 

Such  things  had  been.  He  knew  well  there  are  women 
who  would  stoop  to  any  treachery  to  satisfy  their  desires, 
but  that  Tracy's  wife  was  such  an  one  he  could  not,  he 
would  not,  believe. 

And  yet,  he  thought  of  her  strange  conduct  on  the  road 
to  Bath,  her  evident  annoyance  at  his  company  ;  of  her  mys- 
terious midnight  encounter  with  a  stranger  of  which  he  had 
never  yet  been  able  to  find  satisfactory  explanation.  Other 
mysteries  in  her  conduct  flashed  across  his  mind.  Why 
had  she  sent  him  on  a  wild  goose  chase  to  Claverton  Down 
the  day  of  Tracy's  return?  What  was  she  seeking  in  his 
room  the  night  she  visited  him  ?  Why  had  his  letter  assert- 
ing his  innocence  and  challenging  the  accusation  received 
no  answer  from  Tracy?  Had  she  intercepted  it?  One  by 
one  the  points  of  evidence  were  amassed  against  her,  and 
reluctantly  he  confessed  that  the  evidence  was  strong.  The 


"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS"  145 

papers  had  been  intrusted  to  her  by  her  husband,  she  had 
given  them  to  the  stranger  at  Avington,  either  through  fear 
or  through  love,  and  to  shield  herself,  she  had  invented  the 
tale  of  theft  and  woven  a  skilful  chain  of  suspicion  round 
himself. 

So  the  story  shaped  itself  in  his  mind.  He  recalled  dimly 
the  snatches  of  conversation  he  had  overheard  from  his  post 
behind  the  settle,  vague  whispers  of  papers,  of  loyalty,  and 
those  last  stern  words  of  farewell:  "On  your  life,  madam, 
watch."  Surely,  surely  the  proofs  were  strong.  To  be 
sure  Tracy  knew  something  of  that  scene  in  the  inn  par- 
lour, for  he  had  questioned  him  about  it,  but  doubtless 
Adelaide  had  been  beforehand  with  her  version  of  her  mid- 
night wandering,  lest  it  should  reach  the  ear  of  her  husband 
from  another  source. 

The  evidence  seemed  clear,  and  yet  Timothy  fought  the 
belief  with  all  his  might.  He  had  known  Adelaide  long,  and 
though  never  actually  one  of  her  suitors,  he  had  always 
believed  her  worthier  than  any  woman  to  be  the  wife  of  his 
friend ;  and  her  devotion  to  Tracy  had  seemed  the  one  ob- 
ject of  her  life.  He  could  not  believe  her  such  a  consummate 
hypocrite.  But  further,  he  shrank  from  belief  in  her  guilt 
for  another  reason,  for  if  she  be  indeed  the  spy  he  sought, 
how  could  he  accuse  her  to  Celia ;  and  without  that  accusa- 
tion how  could  he  hope  to  prove  his  own  innocence?  His 
only  chance  lay  in  obtaining  an  interview  with  her,  and 
then  should  he  succeed  in  bringing  home  the  charge,  he 
must  persuade  her  either  by  threats  or  by  entreaties  to  clear 
him  in  Celia's  eyes.  The  opinion  of  the  rest  of  the  world 
was  to  him  of  trifling  consequence. 

The  thought  of  the  interview  was  not  cheering,  he  had  a 
dread  of  scenes  with  women,  he  hoped  it  would  not  be  neces- 


146  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

sary  to  have  recourse  to  threats.  He  could  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  pity  her.  It  was  obvious  she  had  accused  him 
merely  to  save  herself  from  suspicion,  and  the  warning  she 
had  sent  him  to  the  "Horse  and  Hounds"  showed  a  genuine 
wish  to  spare  him  evil  consequences.  He  cursed  the  fates 
for  sending  him  to  be  the  Nemesis  of  her  guilt. 

As  he  sat  wiling  away  the  hours  by  dealing  and  cutting 
the  cards,  hand  against  hand,  he  had  yet  a  source  of  uneasy 
thought.  His  departure  from  Bath  the  previous  day 
seemed  to  have  awakened  the  suspicions  of  the  trades- 
people; on  his  return  he  found  his  table  covered  with  un- 
pleasant-looking accounts.  The  thought  of  these  pressing 
creditors  recalled  to  his  mind  the  offer  of  Mr.  Josiah  Smith 
and  the  threats  of  the  mayor  of  Bath,  which,  in  the  excite- 
ments of  the  past  two  days,  he  had  forgotten.  A  faint 
curiosity  with  regard  to  the  suspected  house  stirred  him, 
and  having  nothing  better  to  do,  he  dragged  his  chair  into 
the  embrasure  of  the  window  early  on  the  second  morning 
of  his  confinement,  and  set  himself  to  watch  the  entries  and 
exits  at  the  bright  brown  doorway  opposite. 

It  would  seem  the  little  French  coiffeuse  had  a  large 
clientele.  Chair  after  chair  was  borne  down  the  narrow 
alley  and  in  at  the  demure  brown  doorway  until  at  six 
o'clock  the  last  visitor  departed.  Then  she  drew  the  curtains 
closely  across  her  windows  and  emerged  from  the  demure 
doorway,  followed  by  an  elderly  serving  woman.  She  locked 
the  door  behind  her  and  tripped  away  along  Boat-Stall 
Lane,  and  out  of  the  eastern  gate  of  the  city. 

The  coiffeuse  was  a  small  middle-aged  woman,  betraying 
her  nationality  in  every  line  of  her  neat  figure,  from  the 
top  of  her  elaborately  dressed  head  to  the  tip  of  her  well- 
shod  feet.  She  still  retained  much  of  the  beauty  of  youth, 


"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS"  147 

though  how  much  was  due  to  powder  and  paint  it  was  diffi- 
cult at  a  distance  to  determine.  She  had  bright  black  eyes, 
a  full  figure  and  full,  red-lipped  mouth,  and  walked  with  the 
short,  quick  steps  of  a  busy,  energetic  woman.  She  nodded 
and  smiled  at  many  acquaintances  as  she  passed  down  the 
lane,  and  paused  at  the  gate  to  pat  the  head  of  the  gate- 
ward's  child  before  she  turned  along  the  London  road  to 
her  home.  After  her  departure  the  house  remained  silent 
and  deserted  until  her  return  on  the  following  morning. 

Now  when  a  man  devotes  himself  for  the  space  of  two  days 
to  watching  the  comings  and  goings  of  a  crowd,  and  when, 
moreover,  his  eyes  are  sharpened  by  suspicion,  he  is  likely 
enough  to  alight  upon  many  curious  matters.  So  it  was 
with  Timothy. 

At  first  this  regular  procession  of  sedan  chairs,  one  on  an 
average  of  every  twenty  minutes,  appeared  to  him  as  inno- 
cent as  it  was  uninteresting,  but  presently,  as  he  watched, 
he  noted  certain  remarkable  facts  that  considerably  sharp- 
ened his  curiosity.  He  remarked,  for  example,  that  every 
chair  which  was  open,  which  deposited  its  occupant  in  the 
roadway,  or  which  was  borne  by  liveried  servants,  came  up 
Boat-Stall  Lane  from  the  direction  of  the  city,  but  every 
chair  which  swung  up  the  passage  from  Cock  Alley  was 
without  exception  closed  and  was  carried  directly  into  the 
house.  He  remarked  again  that  the  boots  worn  by  the 
bearers  of  these  latter  chairs  were  smirched  with  heavy 
country  clay  and  not,  as  might  have  been  expected,  with 
the  mire  of  city  gutters. 

Again,  he  noted  that  the  men  bearing  the  chairs  up  Cocls 
Alley  sweated  and  toiled  under  the  weight  of  their  burdens 
with  an  effort  unusual  to  chairmen,  but  when,  after  a  de- 
cent interval  allowed  for  coiffuring,  they  departed  again 


148 

from  the  house,  they  swung  down  the  passage  with  the  light 
step  and  easy  carriage  that  usually  betokens  an  empty 
chair.  Yet  it  was  not  possible  that  they  could  have  left  the 
fares  behind  them  at  the  house,  for  none  ever  departed  on 
foot. 

But  chiefly  was  Timothy's  curiosity  aroused  by  the  re- 
markable likeness  among  the  chairmen  who  came  up  Cock 
Alley.  After  studying  them  carefully  for  two  days,  it  was 
clear  to  him  that  there  were  but  four  different  sets  of  chair- 
men coming  and  going  to  the  house  from  that  direction. 
Now  they  were  obviously  hired  chairs,  therefore  it  was  not 
unlikely  that  one  chair  should  be  frequently  hired  on  the 
same  job,  but  that  the  same  four  chairs  should  be  hired  in 
rotation  with  such  unchanging  regularity  for  two  whole 
days  struck  him  as  such  an  extraordinary  coincidence  that 
he  resolved  not  to  allow  another  hour  to  elapse  without  in- 
quiring further  into  the  mystery. 

Accordingly,  his  shoulder  being  now  almost  healed,  he 
prepared  to  go  out  and  investigate.  He  muffled  himself 
in  a  high-collared  riding-coat  and  wide-brimmed  hat,  and 
waiting  until  Madame  Grieve  had  departed  for  the  night, 
he  plunged  down  into  the  narrow  alley  and  knocked  lustily 
at  the  bright  brown  door. 

His  summons  met  with  no  response.  The  knocking  echoed 
against  the  high  walls  in  the  alley  and  died  away  in  the 
distance.  He  stepped  back  and  stared  up  at  the  house  and 
knocked  again,  listening  eagerly  for  any  sound  within ;  but 
all  was  quiet  and  deserted. 

Suddenly, he  stood  arrested,  staring  with  wide-open  eyes  at 
the  little  round  window  to  the  left  of  the  doorway,  shrouded 
in  its  white  muslin  curtains.  For  as  he  threw  a  last  glance 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  house,  for  a  moment,  for  the  f rac- 


"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS"  149 

tion  of  a  second,  the  white  curtains  were  parted,  and  a 
woman's  face  framed  in  an  aureole  of  copper-coloured  hair 
appeared  in  the  opening.  He  caught  one  glimpse  of  a  pair 
of  bright  eyes,  the  colour  of  burnt  umber,  and  then  the 
shadow  of  the  curtain  fell  again  across  the  window,  and  all 
was  blank. 

Timothy  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again.  The  curtain 
hung  motionless  before  the  window,  the  house  gave  no  sign 
of  life.  He  knocked  again,  and  waited.  He  knew  he  was 
not  mistaken  in  the  face,  it  was  the  same  woman  who  had 
smiled  at  him  from  the  coach  window  three  days  previously, 
but  who  she  was  and  why  she  was  here,  lurking  in  an  empty 
house,  were  questions  it  baffled  him  to  answer.  His  curiosity 
in  the  mystery  of  the  house  redoubled. 

But  it  was  clear  no  more  was  forthcoming  that  evening. 
Reluctantly  he  left  his  post,  and  turning  down  into  Cock 
Alley,  he  strolled  thoughtfully  in  the  direction  of  the  High 
Street. 

A  man  stepped  out  suddenly  from  a  doorway  and  tapped 
him  on  the  shoulder.  Timothy  wheeled  round  quickly,  his 
hand  on  his  sword;  his  nerves  were  jumpy.  He  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  Mr.  Josiah  Smith. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said  eagerly.  "Did  you 
see  anything?  I  see  you  are  watching  the  house." 

"How  dare  you  play  the  spy  on  me,  sirrah?"  cried  Tim 
angrily.  "Do  you  honour  me  with  your  suspicions?" 

Josiah  gave  a  little  apologetic  bow  and  turned  to  walk 
beside  him. 

"It's  the  house,  Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said  dolefully.  "I  watch 
day  and  night  as  well  as  it's  possible.  But  though  I've  had 
my  eye  on  it  for  a  week,  I  can't  see  any  sign  of  what  I 
expected." 


150  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Timothy  checked  an  impulse  to  order  the  man  away.  It 
dawned  upon  him  that  Josiah  Smith  might  prove  a  useful 
mine  of  information  to  be  explored  in  his  search  for  the 
spy.  He  eyed  him  thoughtfully. 

"What  roused  your  suspicions  in  the  first  instance?" 

"A  letter,  sir,  an  anjonymous  letter  expressly  stating  that 
this  house  sheltered  a  band  of  conspirators  who  hid  their 
arms  and  ammunition  in  the  upper  rooms.  But  we've 
searched  the  house,  we've  watched  it,  and  I've  sent  women 
at  all  hours  under  the  pretence  of  wanting  their  hair 
dressed,  and  at  no  time  have  we  seen  anything  out  of  the 
common  or  in  anyway  suspicious." 

"Ah-h !"  said  Tim  thoughtfully ;  "it  strikes  me,  man,  the 
letter  was  a  blind  and  you  are  on  the  wrong  tack." 

Josiah  shook  his  head.  "I  thought  so  myself,  sir,  and  was 
for  searching  elsewhere,  but  last  night — !"  He  stopped 
and  eyed  Timothy  doubtfully ;  but  he  was  evidently  yearn- 
ing to  confide  in  some  one,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation 
he  continued  in  a  low  voice:  "Last  night,  sir,  about  eleven 
o'clock,  I  walked  along  here  to  have  a  quiet  look,  and  as  I 
reached  that  corner  yonder,  I  looked  up  suddenly  at  the 
sky  and  I  saw — a  woman  on  the  roof  of  that  house." 

"Saw  what?"  cried  Tim  amazedly. 

"A  woman,  sir.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  the  light 
was  shifty,  but  I  saw  her  as  plain  as  I  see  you.  She  was 
in  white,  sir,  with  flames  round  her  head.  She  stood  there 
for  a  second,  and  then  she  vanished." 

"Vanished!    Demme!    Where?" 

"Nowhere,  sir.   Disappeared.    Sank  away." 

"Pooh !    A  trap-door." 

"There  is  none,  sir.  The  mayor  sent  a  man  up  to  examine 
the  leads  on  the  pretence  that  a  broken  chimney  endangered 


"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS"  151 

the  street,  and  he  says  there  is  no  way  to  the  roof  from 
the  house." 

"Egad!"  ejaculated  Tim  thoughtfully;  "it  strikes  me,  Mr. 
Smith,  that  your  house  is  haunted." 

Josiah  eyed  him  queerly  and  gave  a  nervous  laugh. 

"It — it  is  strange,  isn't  it,  sir?" 

"Strange?  It's  demmed  uncanny." 

Josiah  coughed.  "You'll  understand,  Mr.  Curtis,  after 
seeing  that,  a  man  doesn't  care  over  much  to  be  about  the 
place  at  midnight  alone.  But  the  mayor  thinks  with  you, 
that  the  letter  was  a  blind,  and  will  take  no  further  part  in 
the  watch." 

Timothy  eyed  him  shrewdly.  "You  want  me  to  take  up 
the  work,  eh?" 

"Only  at  night,  sir.  Your  window  is  so  opportunely 
placed." 

Tim  considered.  "This  conspiracy,  Mr.  Smith — you 
deem  it  Jacobean,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir.  It  is  rumoured  in  London  that  the  Prince  has 
already  sailed  from  Dunkirk.  They  netted  a  whole  peck  of 
traitors  hatching  their  plots  down  in  Dorset  last  week,  and 
'tis  known  well  there  are  many  Jacobites  in  Bath." 

"Why  don't  you  apprehend  them,  then?" 

"That  is  not  my  work.  I  am  sent  here  to  watch  this  house. 
My  Lord  Pelham  has  other  assistants." 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  Tim  bluntly. 

Josiah  flushed  crimson;  he  drew  himself  up  stiffly  and 
stared  at  Tim. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"I  asked  you  who  are  Lord  Pelham's  other  assistants  ;  who 
is — er — watching  the  conspirators?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Josiah  stiffly. 


152  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"D'ye  mean  you  don't  know  ?" 

"No,  sir.     I  mean  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"Pish !"  said  Tim  shortly ;  "I'll  not  betray  the  confidence, 
but  I  wish  to  know.  Look  you,  man,  a  bargain.  I  will 
watch  this  house  for  you  at  night  and  mark  the  doings  o' 
these  ghosts  if  you,  on  your  part,  will  tell  me  the  name  of 
Lord  Pelham's  man.  If  you  wish  it,  I  will  add  some — er — 
pecuniary  value  to  my  side  of  the  bargain." 

Josiah  stood  still.  His  face  was  very  red,  he  twisted  his 
hands  nervously  together  and  stared  at  the  ground. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "you  misunder- 
stand me,  sir.  I'm  paid  by  Lord  Pelham  to  spy  on  that 
house,  and  's  blood,  I'll  spy  on  it  by  every  means  in 
my  power.  But  I — I've  my  own  notion  of  honesty,  sir, 
and  it  don't  allow  me  to  risk  my  master's  interests  by  be- 
traying those  who  help  him.  I  ask  your  pardon  for 
troubling  you,  Mr.  Curtis,  and  wish  you  a  very  good- 
evening." 

He  looked  at  Timothy  with  a  certain  dignity  that  was 
almost  pathetic,  and  turning  away,  walked  down  the  street. 

Tim  stared  after  him,  biting  his  lip.  "Plague  on  it !"  he 
muttered.  "It  would  seem  I'm  the  most  bedad  fool  in  the 
kingdom.  But  I  thought  him  only  a  spy  whom  any  purse 
could  buy." 

A  man  swung  out  of  a  tavern  and  almost  knocked  down 
Josiah.  He  started  at  the  sight  of  him  and  looked  sus- 
piciously from  him  to  Timothy.  Then  he  laughed  lightly, 
and  walking  up  to  the  latter,  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Come  on,  Curtis,  and  have  a  turn  at  the  cards.  Come 
back  to  my  lodgings  and  we'll  make  a  night  of  it.  Gad! 
what  if  you  be  paid  by  Pelham!  Jamie's  men  are  not  so 
plaguy  honest  that  they  can  tu/~  up  their  noses  at  you. 


"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS"  153 

The  friends  o'  the  top  dog  are  contemptible  spies,  and  the 
friends  o'  the  bottom  dog  are  damnable  traitors  all  the 
world  over.  For  myself,  I'd  deal  a  hand  or  drink  a  cup  with 
either." 

He  linked  his  arm  through  Tim's,  and  strolled  up  the 
street  by  his  side.  Tim  made  no  objection.  He  knew  the 
value  of  Rory  Winnington's  mocking  tongue  too  well  to 
take  any  count  of  his  words,  and  after  three  days'  solitude 
any  companionship  was  welcome. 

"Egad!  Curtis,  you're  a  rare  man  in  a  rough  and 
tumble,"  continued  Rory  with  a  chuckle.  "Faith !  but  we 
had  the  liveliest  time  with  you  and  your  table.  I've  not 
laughed  so  much  since  Noll  upset  the  tea-stand  on  Lady 
Cornwallis's  cat.  What  a  fool  you  were  not  to  take  it 
quietly.  Lee  was  for  pinking  you  at  the  end;  he  has  the 
devil's  own  temper." 

"Hum,"  said  Tim  drily,  "so  you  were  there  ?  It  strikes  me 
we  have  an  account  to  settle  over  that  affair." 

"Not  I,"  said  Rory  coolly ;  "I  don't  quarrel  with  any  man 
for  swearing  when  his  night's  rest  is  disturbed." 

He  laughed  at  the  cool  effrontery  of  the  man.  "How  is 
Charles  Rathborne?"  he  asked. 

"A  bit  stiff  in  the  arm  where  you  pinked  him,  and  plunged 
in  melancholy  madness  for  letting  you  escape.  You're  a 
slippery  eel  to  writhe  through  their  fingers."  He  eyed  him 
thoughtfully  for  a  minute.  "It's  my  belief,  Tim,  a  pair 
o'  white  hands  had  their  share  in  your  escape,  eh  ?" 

Tim  flushed  and  made  no  answer.     Rory  whistled  softly. 

"I  thought  so.  Bedad !  but  you  must  have  the  tongue  of 
an  angel  to  win  my  pretty  sister  to  your  side  after  her  re- 
ception of  you  at  Tuesday's  ball.  Women  are  plaguy  un- 
accountable creatures." 


154  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Docs  any  one  else  guess  her  share  in  the  matter?"  asked 
Tim  hesitatingly. 

"Not  they,"  answered  Rory  with  a  sudden  sternness. 
"And  you  will  do  well,  Curtis,  to  keep  it  to  yourself.  If 
tongues  wag  about  the  affair,  I  shall  make  it  my  business 
to  silence  them.  You  understand?" 

Tim  nodded.  "You  need  not  fear  I'll  take  advantage  of 
her — her  pity,"  he  said  softly. 

Rory  looked  at  him  thoughtfully.  "Look  you,  Tim,"  he 
said  suddenly.  "Bath  air  is  plaguy  unwholesome  for  you 
at  present.  Have  you  no  affairs  to  call  you  to  town?" 

Tim  shook  his  head  obstinately.  "Not  I.  I  don't  leave 
Bath  till  I've  finished  a  quest  I  have  in  hand." 

"What's  your  quarry,  eh?" 

"The  man — or  woman — who  holds  Pelham's  bribe." 

Rory  looked  at  him  with  a  queer  smile  in  his  eyes. 

"Ah-h !"  he  drawled ;  "a  monstrous  entertaining  hunt,  I'll 
warrant.  Well,  if  you  will  stay  in  the  city,  be  advised — 
walk  in  the  sun  and  keep  house  o'  nights,  and  don't  let  your 
sword  arm  stiffen." 

A  woman  had  been  following  them  up  the  street,  at  a  re- 
spectful distance,  a  pretty,  pert-looking  creature  showily 
dressed.  Now  she  drew  nearer  and  hailed  Rory  nervously. 

"Mr.  Winnington,  sir,  could  I  speak  to  you?" 

Rory  turned  to  her  with  an  impatient  frown,  which  melted 
into  a  smile  of  whimsical  resignation  when  he  met  her  be- 
seeching blue  eyes. 

Tim  looked  at  the  girl.  "Why,  Martha,"  he  said,  "it's 
you,  is  it?  What's  to  do?  Lost  your  place,  eh ?" 

She  bobbed  him  a  curtsey.  "Yes,  please,  Mr.  Curtis,  I 
left  Lady  Wimbourne  a  week  ago.  Can't  I  speak  to  you, 
please,  Mr.  Winnington  ?" 


"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS"  155 

Rory  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "You  go  on,  Curtis,"  he 
said  shortly.  "I'll  be  with  you  in  a  minute."  Then  he 
turned  to  the  girl.  "Well,  my  dear,  what  d'ye  want  now  ?" 
he  asked  wearily. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  and  scraped  her  toe  nervously  to 
and  fro  on  the  gravel.  "You — you've  not  been  to  see  me 
since  Friday  last  week,"  she  said  slowly. 

"No,"  said  Rory  coldly ;  "I've  had  no  need  to,  my  dear." 

The  girl  looked  up  with  a  startled  air.  "No  need 
to — ?"  she  repeated  slowly;  "is  it  only  news  you  come  for 
then?" 

He  laughed.  "Why,  what  else  did  you  dream  brought  me, 
•  child?" 

She  flushed.  "You — you  said  I  was  the  prettiest  girl  in 
Bath,"  she  muttered. 

"Did  I?  Egad!  my  dear,  I've  said  it  so  often  I've  lost 
count  of  'em  all." 

Her  mouth  drooped :  she  looked  at  him  beseechingly. 

"But,  Mr.  Winnington,  I — I'd  be  main  glad  if  you'd  come 
again,  sir,"  she  whispered  entreatingly. 

Rory  looked  down  into  her  blue  eyes  and  wavered,  then  he 
set  his  mouth  resolutely  and  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  mut- 
tered ;  "I  promised  Laidie  I'd  not  hurt  the  girl,  and — 
demme,  I'll  keep  my  word."  He  stooped  and  pinched  her 
chin  playfully.  "Wake  up,  child,  you're  too  pretty  a  play- 
mate for  me — go  find  you  a  husband." 

She  held  out  her  hand  entreatingly,  but  he  shook  his  head 
smilingly,  and  with  a  sudden  sob  she  turned  and  hurried 
down  the  street. 

Rory  shrugged  his  shoulders  lightly  and  followed  Tim. 
"Faith!  Curtis,"  he  said  drily,  "I  have  my  virtuous  mo- 
ments, and  can  play  the  deaf  adder  as  well  as  any  man." 


156  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

They  emerged  into  Cheap  Street  and  were  nearing  the 
door  of  Rory's  lodgings  when  a  loud  voice  hailed  them 
from  the  opposite  sidewalk.  A  tall,  erect,  handsome,  old 
gentleman  dressed  in  the  perfection  of  fashion  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  walk  and  waved  his  cane  violently  to  attract 
their  attention.  At  sight  of  him  Tim  clutched  Rory's  arm 
with  a  cry  of  astonishment. 

"Bedad !  it's  my  uncle." 

Rory  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and  burst  into  a  shout 
of  laughter.  "Bear  up,  Tim,  he  only  carries  a  cane! 
Why?  Didn't  you  know  he  was  here?  They  arrived  in 
Bath  Thursday  last." 

"I  never  heard  of  it,"  said  Tim,  stepping  down  into  the 
gutter  to  cross  the  road. 

"I'm  not  to  have  your  company  to-night  then?"  said 
Rory.  "Well,  maybe  I'll  see  you  later  at  Lady  Westerby's. 
There's  mettle  monstrous  attractive  there!" 

Tim  crossed  the  road  to  his  uncle.  The  two  men  faced 
each  other  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  turned  and  walked 
along  side  by  side. 

"Well,"  said  Lord  Westerby  curtly,  "what  is  the  explana- 
tion?" 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  in  Bath,"  answered  Tim  laconi- 
cally. 

"Hum!     Poor.     Where  have  you  been  hiding?" 

"Not  hiding ;  doctor's  orders." 

"Why?    Have  you  been  duelling?" 

"No.    I  ran  against  another  man's  sword  point." 

"Ah-h !  What  are  you  doing  in  Bath  ?  Why  did  you  not 
obey  orders  and  come  to  Bristol?" 

"I  find  Bath  air  pleasanter,  sir." 

Suddenly  Lord  Westerby  stopped  and  laughed.     "You 


"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS"  157 

don't  change,  my  boy,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"Nor  you,  my  lord,"  answered  Tim  affectionately.  "Is 
my  aunt  here  with  you?" 

"Yes,  and  one  in  whom  you'd  do  well  to  take  more  interest, 
Miss  Dorothy  Smallshaw." 

Tim  whistled.    "Why  is  she  here?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"She  finds  Bath  air  pleasant,"  chuckled  Lord  Westerby. 

"Don't  be  a  coward,  my  boy ;  you'll  find  her  a  pretty  saucy 
piece  of  goods  and  an  heiress  to  boot." 

Tim  set  his  mouth  obstinately  and  shook  his  head.  Lord 
Westerby  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"Ah!  well,  see  her,  see  her,  my  boy.  Sho  hasn't  any  to 
surpass  her  in  all  Bath,  and  only  one  equal  in  my  judg- 
ment, and  the  two  beauties  are  as  unlike  as  sun  and  moon." 

As  they  strolled  up  the  street  together,  they  passed  many 
acquaintances  bound  on  their  way  to  church  or  supper. 
These  greeted  Lord  Westerby  courteously,  but  it  was  ob- 
vious that  Timothy  Curtis  was  still  banished  from  society, 
his  salutations  were  significantly  overlooked.  Lord  Wes- 
terby remarked  this,  and  eyed  his  nephew  quizzically. 

"It  seems  you  are  not  popular  here,"  he  said  drily. 

"No,"  said  Tim  coolly ;  "it  seems  I  am  not." 

Lord  Westerby  stopped  dead.  "Nothing  disgraceful,  I 
hope,"  he  asked  sharply. 

Tim  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "No,  sir,"  he  said 
quietly. 

Lord  Westerby  nodded  and  pursued  his  way.  "Popular- 
ity," he  said  cynically,  "is  largely  connected  with  purse 
strings ;  but  politeness,  my  boy,  can  be  taught  at  the  sword 
point." 

Tim  flushed  and  made  no  answer.    At  the  top  of  the  street 


158 

he  stopped,  and  his  heart  gave  a  sudden  bound.  Swinging 
along  in  an  open  chair  came  Celia  Winnington.  She  was 
smiling  up  into  the  eyes  of  Lord  Robert  Dacre,  who  walked 
on  her  right,  while  Charles  Rathborne  rested  his  hand  on 
the  door  at  her  left;  behind  came  Sir  Peter,  linking  arms 
with  David  Beringer,  and  Oliver  Shirley,  the  stout  and 
courteous  one,  brought  up  the  rear,  escorting  Lady  Wim- 
bourne's  chair. 

Tim  stood  aside,  hat  in  hand.  Celia  gave  him  no  greet- 
ing, but  as  she  passed  she  lifted  her  eyes  for  a  second  to  his 
with  a  long  searching  look,  then  the  lids  were  lowered  and 
she  turned  away  her  head.  The  men  ignored  his  presence 
entirely. 

Lord  Westerby  looked  sharply  from  Celia  to  his  nephew. 
"That  is  the  only  woman  in  Bath  who  can  hold  a  candle  to 
Dorothy,"  he  said  emphatically. 
"Do  you  know  her?"  asked  Tim  eagerly. 
"Know  Winnington's  niece?    Of  course  I  do.    So  do  you." 
Tim  smiled  bitterly.    "No,"  he  said  shortly ;  "she  does  not 
count  me  among  her  acquaintances." 

"Ah!"  said  his  uncle  slowly.  "Then  you  are  a  greater 
fool  than  I  thought  you." 

Lady  Westerby  welcomed  her  nephew  affectionately.  She 
had  been  a  beauty  in  her  youth  and  was,  some  thought,  even 
more  beautiful  in  her  old  age.  Moreover,  she  still  preserved 
that  subtle  power  of  exciting  men's  admiration  without  any 
effort,  of  attracting  their  homage  as  it  were  her  due,  which 
is  the  most  charming  characteristic  of  a  woman  born  to 
rule.  She  had  a  certain  gentle  dignity  that  rebuked  im- 
pertinence more  than  any  haughty  demeanour,  and  even 
in  that  age  of  ceremony  she  was  noted  for  her  courtli- 
ness. 


"THE  SEDAN  CHAIRS'*  159 

"Your  uncle  will  have  told  you,  Timothy,  that  Miss 
Smallshaw  has  journeyed  hither  with  me,  and  that  it  is  our 
wish  you  should  become  acquainted  with  her.  She  is  young, 
and  her  spirits  are  high,  and  she  is  wilful  on  occasion,  hav- 
ing been  spoiled  all  her  life ;  but  I  love  her,  Tim,  and  she  is 
very  beautiful.  She  has  already  learned  to  be  interested 
in  you.  Be  kind  to  her  for  my  sake." 

Tim  kissed  his  aunt's  hand.  "If  she  be  as  beautiful  as  my 
uncle  reports  she  will  have  no  lack  of  champions  in  Bath. 
My  attentions  were  but  superfluity." 

Lady  Westerby  smiled.  "Were  you  a  woman,  Timothy, 
you  would  know  that  to  a  woman  no  man's  attentions  are 
a  superfluity.  And  were  I  a  man,  my  nephew,  methinks  I 
should  enjoy  the  conquest  of  a  wife  who  gave  me  some 
trouble  in  the  chase." 

Tim  grimaced.  "Sense  is  an  excellent  thing  in  woman. 
If  the  quarry  desire  capture,  why  does  it  fly  ?" 

"Lud !  Timothy,  you  gallants  of  the  present  day  are  lag- 
gards indeed.  Your  uncle — "  she  stopped  and  laughed. 

Tim  laughed  and  kissed  her  hand  again.  "My  uncle, 
madam,  reached  for  a  star  worthy  any  man's  agonising  to 
win." 

She  laughed  and  shook  her  head.  "It  seems  men's 
tongues  are  not  less  ready  though  their  hearts  are  lag- 
gard now.  Reach  me  my  fan,  dear;  the  evening  is  op- 
pressive." 

Timothy  rose  and  crossed  to  the  table  for  her  fan.  He 
turned,  and  suddenly  the  fan  fell  clattering  to  the  ground, 
and  he  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  his  eyes  wide  with  blank 
astonishment.  A  woman  had  entered  the  room  and  stood 
by  the  door  smiling  at  him ;  her  face  was  very  fair,  with  an 
aureole  of  copper-coloured  hair,  and  the  bright  eyes  that 


160  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

viewed  his  amazement  with  a  twinkle  of  suppressed  amuse- 
ment were  the  colour  of  burnt  umber. 

"Dorothy,  allow  me  to  present  to  you  my  nephew,  Mr. 
Curtis,"  said  Lady  Westerby  ceremoniously.  "Timothy, 
this  is  Miss  Dorothy  Smallshaw,  my  guest." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"THE  SUN" 

TIMOTHY  bowed,  but  for  the  moment  his  wits  deserted  him, 
he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say.  He  picked  up  the  fan 
and  placed  it  on  the  table,  and  he  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass 
to  a  seat  in  the  window,  but  he  was  too  entirely  amazed  to 
utter  the  compliments  usual  on  an  introduction. 

Dorothy,  for  her  part,  smiled  at  him  in  frank  amusement ; 
it  would  appear  she  attributed  his  want  of  aplomb  to  aston- 
ishment at  her  unexpected  charms. 

"I  have  seen  you  before,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said.  "Is  it 
your  custom  to  ride  abroad  at  noonday  without  hat  or 
coat?" 

Timothy  recovered  his  wits.  "Not  always,  madam,"  he 
said  significantly.  "At  times  I  walk  abroad  at  nightfall 
muffled  to  the  eyebrow." 

She  gave  no  sign  that  she  understood  the  allusion  in  his 
words.  "I'd  give  the  world  to  know  what  had  befallen  you 
the  other  day,"  she  laughed.  "But  I  suppose  I  may  not 
ask." 

"I  would  beg  you  not  to,  madam,  for  I  could  not  tell  you, 
and  'twould  break  my  heart  to  cause  you  disappointment," 
he  said  gallantly. 

She  flashed  a  merry  look  at  him  from  under  her  lashes. 

"Lud!  sir,  are  you  there  already?"  she  cried  saucily. 
"  'Twould  seem  there  are  some  roads  you  travel  faster  than 
the  one  to  Bristol.  But  I  have  already  learned  that  Bath  is 
a  city  where  the  tongue  wags  faster  than  the  brain  works." 


162  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"And  where,  perhaps,  the  eyes,  being  privileged,  speak 
faster  than  either,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her. 

He  sat  on,  exchanging  gallantry  and  compliment  and  puz- 
zling his  brains  over  the  mystery  connected  with  the  girl. 
That  it  was  her  face  he  had  seen  in  the  shadow  of  the  cur- 
tained window  of  the  empty  house  he  was  certain,  but  what 
she  was  doing  there  and  how  she  had  come  thence  were  mys- 
teries he  could  not  fathom.  As  for  the  girl  herself,  in 
truth,  she  was  very  fair  with  her  clear  skin,  her  rich  col- 
ouring, and  her  merry  face  with  its  quaint  little  humorous 
twist  of  lips  and  eyebrows  when  she  talked.  She  was  never 
at  a  loss  for  words,  and  constantly  broke  into  little  ripples 
of  laughter,  as  though  she  found  the  world  a  mightily 
amusing  place.  She  was  dressed  very  richly,  and  on  her 
arms  and  neck  wore  many  gems.  She  was  never  still,  ges- 
ticulating and  nodding  constantly  as  she  talked,  so  that  the 
general  effect  was  that  of  a  flashing,  glittering  jewel. 

Timothy,  comparing  her  in  his  mind  with  Celia,  under- 
stood Lord  Westerby's  similes  of  sun  and  moon — here  was 
indeed  the  rich,  blazing,  almost  brazen  beauty  of  noonday. 

Nay,  more,  there  was  that  in  the  full  lines  of  her  lips,  in 
the  subtle  movements  of  her  limbs,  in  the  tempting  glances 
she  flashed  from  under  her  gold-tipped  lashes,  that  sug- 
gested a  glow,  a  warmth,  a  prodigality  of  passion  breath- 
ing the  luscious  sweetness  of  Southern  sunshine. 

Presently  sounds  of  arrival  were  heard  below.  Dorothy 
leaned  out  of  the  window  and  blushed. 

"  'Tis  Mr.  Winnington,  madam,"  she  said.  "He  is 
come  to  escort  us  to  the  concert  at  the  Assembly  Rooms." 

Rory  entered  with  his  confident  air,  his  mocking  smile. 
He  saluted  Lady  Westerby,  and  then  crossing  the  room, 
seated  himself  coolly  on  the  window  seat  by  Dorothy's  side. 


"THE  SUN"  163 

"Madam,"  he  began  gaily,  "your  advent  to  Bath  has 
caused  the  greatest  brain-racking  we've  had  this — sennight. 
All  the  poets  are  seeking  new  similes  for  your  charms,,  and 
all  the  wits  are  crazing  their  intelligences  for  a  name  by 
which  to  toast  you." 

She  laughed.  "Lud!  Mr.  Winnington,  cannot  you  give 
them  the  benefit  of  your  experience?  If  rumour  speaks 
true,  you  have  toasted  every  woman  in  the  kingdom  in  your 
day." 

"Rumour,  madam,  is  of  the  feminine  gender  and  never 
knows  when  to  hold  her  tongue." 

"And  Presumption  is  of  the  male  gender,  sir,  and  must 
not  be  encouraged."  She  rose  and  walked  to  a  distant  seat 
on  the  settee,  laughing  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 

"You've  been  abroad,  madam,"  he  said,  unabashed. 

"How  know  you  that?"  she  asked. 

"The  enviable  earth  still  clings  to  your  garments,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  a  stain  on  her  skirt.  "Gad!  madam,  and  cob- 
webs, too !  One  would  say  you  had  been  over  house-roofs 
and  down  chimney-stacks  by  the  marks." 

She  stared  at  him  for  a  minute,  then  burst  out  laughing. 

"Heaven  keep  us,"  she  cried;  "you  are  amazing!  But  it 
is  indeed  a  stain,"  she  muttered.  "I  must  go  change  my 
gown.  Mr.  Curtis,  you  will  come  with  us  to  the  Rooms?" 

Lady  Westerby  looked  anxiously  at  her  nephew  as  he 
walked  beside  her  chair  on  the  way  to  the  Assembly  Rooms. 

"Dorothy  is  light-tongued,  Tim,"  she  said  apologetically ; 
"but  she  and  Mr.  Winnington  are  old  acquaintances.  He 
was  in  Bristol  for  full  three  months  in  the  spring,  and  much 
at  her  father's  house." 

Tim  nodded.  "They  are  a  well-matched  pair,"  he  said  in- 
differently. 


164  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Lady  Westerby  frowned.  "Mr.  Wilmington  has  the  mer- 
riest heart  and  the  readiest  tongue  of  any  man  I  know,  but 
I  would  not  willingly  trust  him  with  any  woman's  happi- 
ness. There  is  matter  behind  his  mockery.  He  is  secretive." 

"And  Mistress  Dorothy — is  she  transparent,  madam?" 

"Why,  the  child  is  open  as  the  day.  Her  frankness  will 
be  her  undoing,  I  fear.  She  speaks  her  mind  as  rashly  as 
an  untutored  savage." 

Tim  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  made  no  answer. 

The  arrival  of  Lord  Westerby's  party  at  the  Assembly 
Rooms  created  a  sensation.  Miss  Dorothy  Smallshaw  had 
been  but  two  days  in  Bath,  but  in  those  rapid  times,  two 
days  had  sufficed  to  establish  her  reputation  as  the  readiest 
wit  and  one  of  the  brightest  beauties  in  society ;  her  court 
awaited  her. 

The  popularity  of  the  Westerbys  was  great,  their  coming 
to  the  city  was  welcomed  gladly. 

The  reception  accorded  to  Tim  was  varied  and  excited  his 
humour.  His  appearance  under  the  wing  of  Lady  Wester- 
by  and  in  the  train  of  the  new  queen  considerably  changed 
the  aspect  of  affairs  and  moderated  public  opinion ;  more- 
over, four  days  had  passed  since  the  hour  of  his  banishment, 
and  the  subject  was  a  trifle  stale.  Nevertheless,  gossip  still 
hovered  about  his  name.  Men  eyed  him  queerly,  and  stif- 
fened when  he  approached  them,  women  flushed  with  em- 
barrassment while  they  accepted  his  gallantries.  Dorothy 
marked  their  conduct,  and  when,  at  nine  o'clock,  they  passed 
out  into  the  upper  rooms  for  tea,  with  characteristic  frank- 
ness Dorothy  Smallshaw  demanded  an  explanation. 

She  was  sitting  in  a  little  group  of  men,  and  Timothy 
was  holding  her  cup,  when  she  coolly  launched  her  question. 

"I  have  been  out  o'  the  world  and  heard  no  news  since 


"THE  SUN"  165 

Queen  Anne  died.  Tell  me  then — what  has  Mr.  Curtis  done 
to  anger  you  all?  It  seems  he  is  monstrous  unpopular." 

A  gasp  of  surprise  went  round  the  circle;  the  men  eyed 
one  another  in  amused  embarrassment.  For  a  moment 
Tim's  eyes  gleamed  angrily,  then  his  humour  conquered  his 
indignation  and  he  laughed. 

"I  will  enlighten  you,  madam.  There  are  certain  misin- 
formed folk  in  the  city  who  have  been  pleased  to  dub  me  a 
spy." 

Dorothy  started ;  for  an  instant  her  face  grew  grave.  "A 
spy,"  she  whispered.  Then  her  laughter  broke  out  afresh. 
"You,  a  spy ;  fiddle-de-dee,  why  you  have  not  even  eyes  to 
note  a  woman's  face." 

"Nay,  madam,  I  have  been  noting  women's  faces  the  even- 
ing through,"  he  said  teasingly. 

"Women,  Lud !  Mr.  Curtis,  there  is  staleness  in  numbers. 
Take  one  at  a  time." 

As  the  evening  passed,  it  became  speedily  evident  that 
Miss  Smallshaw  was  bent  upon  distinguishing  Timothy 
with  every  mark  of  her  favour.  She  smiled  on  him,  talked 
to  him,  jested  at  him,  and  he  never  left  her  side.  Lady 
Westerby  seconded  the  girl's  efforts ;  she  smiled  upon  the 
couple,  and  was  evidently  resolute  to  bring  them  together. 

"Now  we  have  caught  you,  Timothy,  we  will  keep  you," 
she  laughed.  "You  must  be  our  escort  while  we  remain  in 
Bath.  And  in  truth,  'tisn't  possible  you  should  wish  to 
escape." 

"From  you,  madam?    Good  heavens,  no." 

She  sighed  and  shook  her  head.  "Where  are  your  eyes, 
sir,  that  you  turn  from  youth  to  age?" 

Mr.  Nash  came  near  to  offer  to  Lady  Westerby  the  cere- 
monious welcome  he  considered  due  to  new  arrivals.  She 


166  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

had  been  of  those  who  knew  and  admired  him  in  the  hey- 
day of  his  reign  as  King  of  Bath,  and  in  her  gracious  kind- 
ness, she  ever  accorded  him  the  same  respect,  though  age 
and  increasing  poverty  had  robbed  him  of  much  of  his 
former  buoyant  confidence. 

"The  scene  does  not  change,  Mr.  Nash,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  sigh  at  memory  of  bygone  days.  "Beauty  and  wit 
and  gallantry  still  make  the  world  go  round." 

Mr.  Nash  looked  round  the  crowded  rooms  with  a  frown 
of  discontent.  "It  may  be  my  eyes  grow  dim  and  my  ears 
hard  of  hearing,  madam,  but  it  appears  to  me  that  beauty 
and  wit  lack  the  brightness  of  twenty  years  ago.  And  for 
gallantry — 'tis  going,  'tis  going,  madam.  Our  modern 
gallants,  'twould  seem,  have  no  leisure  left  to  woo." 

"Perchance  they  have  no  hearts  to  love  with,  Mr.  Nash. 
I  have  but  now  rebuked  my  nephew  concerning  laggard 
love." 

Nash  eyed  Tim  sternly.  "Mr.  Curtis,  madam,  requires  no 
spur."  He  turned  to  him  with  a  sudden  assumption  of  his 
old,  outspoken,  tyrannous  manner.  "You  should  learn,  Mr. 
Curtis,  that  'tis  only  upstarts  who  force  themselves  unde- 
sired  on  a  lady's  company." 

Tim  flushed  crimson  with  anger.  But  Mr.  Nash  was  a 
privileged  person.  If  he  could  scold  a  duchess  for  her  in- 
elegant costume,  he  could  assuredly  rebuke  a  gentleman 
for  ill-behaviour.  There  was  no  redress.  Tim  bowed 
haughtily  and  turned  away. 

Lady  Westerby  intervened.  "Permit  me  to  present  you 
to  my  debutante,  Miss  Dorothy  Smallshaw,  one  of  our  new- 
est beauties,  Mr.  Nash." 

"I  have  heard  of  her  already,  madam,  and  am  eager  to 
offer  her  my  compliments."  The  old  beau  shook  out  his 


"THE  SUN"  167 

ruffles,  fixed  his  glass  and  favoured  Dorothy  with  a  bow  no 
man  in  that  assembly  could  equal.  The  curtsey  with  which 
she  responded  evidently  met  with  his  approval,  he  poured 
forth  a  complimentary  address  of  welcome. 

"Bath  is  honoured,  honoured  indeed,  madam,  by  your 
sojourn  here.  We  do  not  lack  beauty  in  our  company,  but 
new  loveliness  is  ever  welcome,  and  I  vow  you  will  not  find 
our  gallants  slow  in  offering  their  homage.  Ah,  madam, 
there  will  be  sword  points  flashing,  I  fear,  unless  you  veil 
your  eyes." 

Dorothy  smiled  with  evident  pleasure.  "Lud !  sir,  'twould 
seem  in  this  company,  there  are  beauties  enough  for  all." 

"We  do  not  lack  stars,  madam,  and  there  is  one  here  who 
has  already  been  toasted  as  the  Moon.  But  methinks  until 
this  hour,  we  have  missed  the  glory  of  the  sun  to  complete 
our  heaven." 

"Bravo,  beau !"  cried  Rory ;  "you've  hit  it.  Miss  Small- 
shaw  is  the  rollicking  sunbeam  that  peers  into  every  cranny 
and  dances  into  every  heart,  and  out  again." 

Dorothy  laughed  at  him  saucily.  "Monstrous  complimen- 
tary, I  vow." 

Nash  eyed  him  sternly.  "Your  interpretation,  sir,  is  as 
poor  as  your  gallantry,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"Mr.  Nash,  you  speak  of  the  Moon.  Who  is  my  rival?" 
asked  Dorothy  bluntly. 

"Madam,  there  should  be  no  rivalry  in  beauty.  Venus  may 
vie  with  Minerva,  but  not  with  a  sister  grace,"  answered 
Nash,  with  somewhat  mixed  mythology.  "For  every 
beauty  has  her  own  light  and  every  light  is  various." 

Dorothy  pouted  at  the  rebuke.  "Nevertheless,  who  is 
the  Moon?" 

"Miss  Celia  Winnington." 


168  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

She  looked  up  at  Rory  questioningly. 

"My  sister,"  he  explained. 

"I  should  like  to  be  presented  to  her,"  she  said 
slowly. 

Mr.  Nash  stepped  eagerly  forward,  seeing  occasion  for 
a  ceremony  in  the  presentation  of  the  two  beauties. 

"Might  I  have  that  honour,  madam,  and  conduct  you  to 
her?" 

Dorothy  eyed  him  wickedly.  "You  would  have  me  go  to 
her,  Mr.  Nash?  Wherefore?" 

The  poor  beau  started,  seeing  the  threatenings  of  one  of 
those  wars  of  precedence  through  which  he  had  so  often 
struggled.  "The  newest  comer,  madam,"  he  stammered. 

Dorothy  laughed  and  gave  him  her  hand;  and  with  an 
air  of  importance  and  a  walk  that  bespoke  ceremonious 
consideration  in  every  step,  Mr.  Nash  escorted  her  through 
the  room  to  the  spot  where  Celia  held  her  court  under 
Adelaide's  wing.  Dorothy  eyed  her  rival  curiously  and 
frankly  owned  to  herself  the  beauty  of  her  face.  She 
flashed  a  glance  round  the  attendant  circle  of  gentlemen, 
and  smiled  when  she  marked  Lord  Westerby  among  their 
number.  Mr.  Nash  effected  the  introduction  with  a  wealth 
of  flowery  compliment,  and  the  two  ladies  swept  low 
curtseys. 

"Madam,  I  have  come  to  salute  the  Moon,"  said  Dorothy. 

"Madam,"  responded  Celia,  smiling,  "the  poor  Moon 
pales  at  the  advent  of  your  light." 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Celia  had  viewed  her  rival ;  she 
had  studied  her  face  all  through  the  evening  concert, 
studied  it  with  a  little  pang  of  jealousy,  since  Timothy 
Curtis,  too,  appeared  to  notice  its  attractions. 

"I  am  vastly  honoured  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  con- 


"THE  SUN"  169 

tinned  Dorothy.  "I  have  long  been  acquainted  with  your 
brother." 

"With  Rory  ?"  Her  face  softened.  "Ah !  then  I  trust  we 
may  see  much  of  you,  madam.  Adelaide,  let  me  present  to 
you  a  friend  of  Rory's." 

"Dorothy,"  said  Lord  Westerby,  "Lady  Wimbourne  and 
her  sister  will  breakfast  with  us  here  to-morrow  and  join 
our  riding  party  on  Claverton  Down." 

Dorothy's  eyes  brightened.  "Lud !  That's  montrous  de- 
lightful. We'll  be  a  goodly  company." 

"Claverton  Down  will  be  for  one  short  morning  the  envied 
of  the  heavens,"  said  Davie  Beringer,  who  having  small  wit 
of  his  own,  was  wont  to  enlarge  upon  that  of  others,  "for 
they  can  boast  but  one  light  at  a  time." 

The  ladies  parted  with  ceremonious  farewells,  and  Dorothy 
moved  away  with  Lord  Westerby.  Adelaide  looked  after 
her  with  a  frown. 

"I  do  not  like  her,  Celia,"  she  whispered.  "I  do  not  trust 
her.  I  pray  to  Heaven  she  may  not  cast  her  favours  to 
Rory." 

"Rory,"  said  Celia.  "Oh,  Rory — "  she  gave  a  gesture 
implying  extraordinary  indifference  to  her  brother's  en- 
trapping. Adelaide  looked  at  her  shrewdly,  and  turned 
away  with  a  sigh. 

A  merry  company  rode  out  to  Claverton  Down  the  follow- 
ing morning  under  Lord  Westerby's  leadership.  The  host 
himself  monopolised  Celia  with  a  skill  born  of  many  years' 
experience  in  the  art ;  it  was  evident  that  he  already  ranked 
himself  among  her  devotees ;  and  Celia  welcomed  the  atten- 
tions of  this  shrewd,  kindly  courtier,  who  would  ask  noth- 
ing in  return.  Ormonde  and  Rathborne,  who  hovered  in 
the  rear,  scowled  at  the  erect  back  of  the  elderly  beau. 


170  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Tracy  rode  with  his  wife,  and  presently,  Lord  Robert 
joined  them.  "No  news  yet?"  he  asked,  glancing  back  to 
see  they  were  not  overheard. 

"None.  But  it  may  come  any  moment.  It  is  well  we  are 
prepared." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  latest  addition  to  your  com- 
pany ?"  Tracy  frowned.  "A  feather-brained  fool,  as  rattle- 
pated  as  Rory  himself.  'Tis  pure  madness;  the  affair  is 
too  serious  to  play  pranks.  I  shall  speak  to  Rory." 

"What  is  it  now?"  asked  Adelaide  curiously. 

Tracy  looked  at  Lord  Robert,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Sweetheart,  leave  us  to  intrigue  as  we  choose,  but  do  you 
keep  clear  of  the  affair.  It  is  no  woman's  work." 

"You  will  not  trust  me  any  more,"  she  said  humbly. 

"With  our  lives,  madam,"  interposed  Lord  Robert  quickly, 
"if  it  could  do  any  good.  But  we  would  not  have  you  bear 
a  jot  more  anxiety  on  your  mind  than  is  necessary.  As  for 
Curtis —  "  he  hesitated  a  moment,  eyeing  Timothy  thought- 
fully from  afar,  "demme,  Tracy,  if  I  can  understand  the 
man.  He  makes  no  move.  But  then  we  watch  him  well." 

"There  seems  one  likely  to  take  the  task  off  our  hands," 
said  Tracy,  nodding  toward  Dorothy,  who  rode  ahead  in 
a  posse  of  men.  "She  holds  him  close  enough  to-day." 

Timothy  rode  by  Dorothy's  side,  watching  her  with  a 
serious  intentness.  All  his  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  he 
was  not  one  to  sit  indifferent  when  any  mystery  baffled  his 
intelligence.  She  seemed  so  open,  so  amazingly  outspoken, 
that  had  he  not  seen  her  at  the  window  in  the  house  of  the 
coiffeuse,  he  would  have  written  her  down  at  once  a  merry- 
hearted  coquette,  and  have  taken  small  interest  in  her 
doings. 

"You  must  know,  gentlemen,"  she  said,  throwing  a  mis- 


"THE  SUN"  171 

chievous  look  in  Timothy's  direction,  "that  Mr.  Curtis  is 
such  a  man  as  Diogenes  himself  vainly  sought  for.  Think 
on  the  marvel !  He  was  offered  a  wife  and  a  fortune  would 
he  but  ride  to  Bristol,  and  lo!  he  took  horse  and  galloped 
forthwith  to  Bath." 

Timothy  flushed,  and  then  laughed  good-humouredly. 
"Is  there  any  matter  in  heaven  and  earth,  madam,  you  do 
not  know?" 

She  laughed.  "Not  many,  sir."  Then  she  hummed  a  bar 
of  "When  Jamie  comes  again,"  and  threw  a  mocking 
glance  at  Rory.  "In  truth,  I  know  what  many  would  give 
a  fortune  to  discover." 

"And  what's  that,  madam?"  asked  Sir  Simon  Dewhurst 
eagerly. 

Rory  jerked  his  rein  suddenly  and  his  horse  reared. 
Dorothy  laughed.  "Steady,  steady,  Mr.  Winnington.  All 
is  not  yet  lost.  Ah!  but  you  sit  well.  You  would  learn 
what  I  know,  Sir  Simon? — why  the  thoughts  of  my  own 
heart."  She  threw  him  a  most  tender  glance.  "Would  not 
many  give  much  to  discover  them?"  she  asked  saucily. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A    TANGLED    SKEIN 

WHEN  Timothy  returned  to  his  lodgings  after  his  morn- 
ing ride  he  was  annoyed  t6  find  no  servant  in  attendance. 
The  worthy  Simon,  despite  his  genius  for  stupidity,  was 
no  laggard  in  the  observance  of  his  duties,  his  absence  was 
consequently  remarkable. 

The  landlady,  summoned  from  the  back  regions,  could 
shed  no  enlightenment,  save  that  he  had  gone  out  in  com- 
pany with  another  man  soon  after  his  master's  departure. 
She  further  informed  Timothy  that  two  gentlemen  had 
called  to  see  him,  and  had  waited  for  an  hour  in  his  rooms, 
but  had  finally  lost  patience  at  the  delay  and  had  gone, 
leaving  no  message. 

Vowing  vengeance  on  Simon's  truancy,  Tim  mounted 
to  his  room,  and  prepared  his  toilette  for.  the  afternoon 
garden  fete  at  Prior  Park,  whither  he  was  bound  in  com- 
pany with  Lady  Westerby. 

As  he  wandered  into  the  outer  room  in  search  of  a  better 
light  by  which  to  tie  his  cravat,  his  eye  was  caught  by  a 
paper  lying  half  hidden  under  his  bureau.  Mechanically 
he  picked  it  up,  and  was  surprised  to  find  it  was  one  of  his 
private  papers,  which  he  was  wont  to  keep  in  the  inner  com- 
partment of  his  desk. 

With  an  oath  of  astonishment,  he  tried  the  lid  of  his 
bureau ;  it  was  locked  securely.  Taking  out  his  keys  he 
opened  it.  At  the  first  glance,  all  was  apparently  in  order, 
but  further  investigation  confirmed  his  suspicions,  that  the 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  173 

place  had  been  ransacked  in  his  absence.  He  noticed  that 
certain  papers  were  folded  differently  and  placed  in  a  dif- 
ferent order,  that  the  dust  on  the  inner  compartments  had 
been  disturbed,  that  a  smear  of  freshly  spilled  ink  stained 
the  wood. 

The  discovery  enraged  him.  His  first  supposition  was 
that  his  servant  had  robbed  him  and  absconded,  but  further 
search  seemed  to  prove  that  nothing  had  been  taken.  As 
he  puzzled  over  the  matter,  the  door  was  burst  open  and 
Simon  ran  panting  into  the  room.  Timothy  seized  him  by 
the  collar  and  shook  him  savagely. 

"What  have  you  been  up  to,  you  rogue?"  he  demanded 
sharply.  "Why  were  you  not  here  when  I  arrived?  What 
the  devil  do  you  mean  by  leaving  my  rooms  open  and 
empty  for  any  thief  to  enter  and  ransack  at  will  ?" 

"Thief!"  muttered  the  man  dully,  staring  round. 

"Yes,  thief,  you  idiot.  Who  has  been  tampering  with  my 
desk?" 

"I  don't  know,  master.  But  you  are  safe,"  answered 
Simon. 

"Safe!  Safe!  What  do  you  mean,  fellow?  Are  you 
crazy?  Why  the  plague  shouldn't  I  be  safe?" 

Simon  scratched  his  head.  "The  man  told  me  that  you 
had  met  with  an  accident  on  the  London  Road,  sir,  and  said 
I  was  to  ride  out  at  once  to  attend  you." 

"Whatman?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Simon  vaguely.  "He  came  on 
a  horse." 

"And  you  believed  a  cock-and-bull  tale  like  that,"  cried 
Timothy  desperately,  "and  trailed  over  the  country,  leav- 
ing my  rooms  free  to  any  light-fingered  Jack?  Oh! 
you " 


174  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

He  turned  to  close  his  desk,  puzzling  over  the  identity  of 
the  men.  It  was  evidently  the  work  of  the  Jacobite  con- 
spirators, a  search  for  their  lost  papers;  he  chuckled  at 
their  disappointment. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  him.  He  reopened  the  inner 
drawer  and  ran  his  eyes  rapidly  over  the  contents ;  then 
he  drew  in  his  lips  with  a  long  whistle.  The  note  of  warn- 
ing which  he  had  received  the  evening  before  he  was  kid- 
napped had  been  taken. 

This  discovery  put  a  new  aspect  upon  the  affair.  It  was 
possible  that  the  men  might  be  emissaries  of  Lady  Whn- 
bourne,  sent  by  her  to  destroy  her  letter,  lest  it  betray  to 
others  her  interference  with  their  plan,  but  this  was  not 
likely.  It  was  too  risky  a  proceeding  to  commend  itself, 
even  to  the  harebrained  intelligence  of  a  woman  in- 
trigante. Timothy  returned  to  his  former  surmise  that 
the  visitors  had  been  in  search  of  the  stolen  papers,  and  had 
lighted  upon  this  letter  by  accident.  But  if  that  were  co, 
what  would  be  their  treatment  of  Adelaide? 

Timothy's  chivalrous  pity  for  the  woman  was  aroused.  He 
must  spare  her  if  it  were  possible ;  at  least,  he  must  warn  her 
of  the  theft. 

For  one  short  minute  he  did  indeed  harbour  the  thought 
that  the  discovery  of  Adelaide's  guilt  would  clear  his  name 
and  spare  him  further  trouble,  but  he  dismissed  it  manfully. 

"No !"  he  muttered.  "There  are  things  a  gentleman  can't 
do.  I  can't  clear  myself  at  the  expense  of  a  woman.  She 
shall  right  me  to  Celia ;  for  the  others,  I'll  look  out  for  my- 
self." 

With  this  resolve  he  set  out  to  join  Lady  Westerby  and 
accompany  her  and  Dorothy  to  the  afternoon  fete. 

The    afternoon    was    dull    and    very    oppressive,    heavy 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  175 

thunder  clouds  piled  the  horizon  and  the  air  was  electric 
with  the  threat  of  a  coming  storm.  The  company,  gathered 
on  the  lawns  and  in  the  alleys  of  Mr.  Allen's  garden,  was 
languid  and  dull,  and  the  entertainment  dragged  weari- 
somely. 

Only  Miss  Dorothy  Smallshaw's  high  spirits  seemed  proof 
against  the  prevailing  depression.  She  laughed  and  talked 
as  gaily  as  ever  and  rallied  her  companions  upon  their 
dulness. 

"Lud!  gentlemen,  I  vow  you  are  all  as  stale  as  a  Pump 
Room  biscuit.  What  ails  you  ?  I  must  find  you  matter  for 
conversation.  Interpret  to  me  why  Mr.  Curtis,  having  set 
out  for  Bristol,  found  himself  at  Bath?" 

"Madam,  I  had  not  then  beheld  the  glory  of  Bristol,"  in- 
terposed Tim  quickly;  the  subject  annoyed  him. 

"La,  la,  you  would  win  pardon  by  gallantry.  Never  fear, 
Mr.  Curtis,  I  would  never  blame  a  man  for  love  of  freedom. 
But  why  Bath,  sir?" 

Curious  eyes  looked  at  Tim.   He  flushed  with  annoyance. 

Dorothy  laughed  mischievously.  "Did  you  track  a  quarry, 
sir?  Ah,  ah,  Mr.  Curtis,  you  blush!  Come,  gentlemen,  a 
little  persistence,  and  we'll  fathom  his  secret." 

Tim's  temper  fled.  "Beware,  madam,  lest  I  seek  to  fathom 
yours,"  he  said  significantly.  "May  not  a  man  look  in  at  a 
window,  as  well  as  a  woman  may  look  out?" 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  a  startled  look  dawned  in 
her  eyes.  Then  she  laughed  defiantly.  "I  vow,  here  is  Mr. 
Curtis  propounding  riddles.  I'll  read  you  the  answer: 
'There  are  many  women  in  the  world  and  many  windows, 
and  they  are  as  alike  as  chalk  to  cheese,  or — Jamie  to 
Geordie.'  " 

The  men  around  stared  from  her  to  Timothy  with  puzzled 


176  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

faces.  Rory  laughed  softly,  and  eyed  her  with  a  glance  of 
wondering  admiration. 

"The  height  of  your  conversation  is  above  me,  madam. 
Will  you  not  walk?  The  Italian  Garden  is  worthy  even 
your  presence.  And  I'll  warrant,  I'll  find  subjects  enow 
for  conversation,  if  you  will  but  be  silent  long  enough  to 
permit  me  to  speak." 

"You  are  amazing  impudent,  Mr.  Winnington,  yet  'tis  too 
hot  to  oppose  you.  But  I  warn  you  I  shall  expect  you  to  be 
as  vastly  entertaining  as  Mr.  Walpole  himself." 

"I  cry  you  mercy,  madam.  Do  not  look  for  Horry's  inani- 
ties from  me.  My  wit  is  crystal." 

"Ay!  it  requires  long  gazing  to  see  anything  in  it,"  an- 
swered Dorothy  promptly. 

Laughing,  they  walked  off  together.  When  they  had 
passed  from  the  lawn  into  the  shadow  of  a  yew-hedged  walk, 
Rory  looked  down  at  her  with  a  reproving  headshake. 

"Madam,  you  sail  too  near  the  wind.  Do  you  not  know 
Mr.  Curtis  has  the  reputation  of  seeing  too  far  into  other 
folk's  affairs?  Be  careful  with  him." 

She  blushed,  half  ashamed.  "Do  you  believe  him  to  be  a 
spy  ?"  she  asked. 

"  'Pon  my  soul,  madam,  I'm  not  sure.  He's  demmed  elusive. 
But  he  suspects  something.  'Tis  not  every  noon  a  man  sees 
a  face  at  the  window  of  an  empty  house." 

She  laughed.  "Lud !  it  seems  he  saw  me  sure  enough.  I 
had  hoped  he  would  believe  it  a  vision.  But  I  do  not  think 
him  a  spy,  Mr.  Winnington ;  'tis  an  honest  face." 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  "And  a  spy  can  have  no 
virtues,  you  hold?" 

She  hesitated.  "Espionage  is  hardly  noble  work.  And  yet 
a  spy  goes  with  his  life  in  his  hands.  There  must  be  some 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  177 

virtue  in  a  courage  that  can  laugh  on  the  brink  of  an 
abyss." 

"You  think  that,  madam  ?" 

"Indeed,  yes.  No  man  surely  could  risk  death  without  a 
qualm." 

"Better  death  than  dulness.  A  spy  must  have  such  hours 
of  excitement  as  no  lesser  stake  could  give." 

"I  protest  I  am  interested  in  Mr.  Curtis." 

"And  I  protest  I'm  jealous  of  your  interest,"  laughed 
Rory.  "Is  it  the  man  or  the  spy  you  admire  ?" 

"Both.   The  man,  because  he  refused  to  marry  me " 

"Egad !  A  queer  reason,  but  rare  enough,  I  warrant.  And 
the  spy ?" 

"Because  I  love  all  courage." 

"You  have  plenty,  madam." 

"Not  I ;  I  have  one  grim  fear.  I  cannot  abide  the  thought 
of  death.  To  go  out  of  the  sunshine,  alone.  Horrible !" 

Rory  looked  down  on  the  bright  company  in  the  Italian 
Garden,  and  gave  a  little  shiver.  "Out  of  the  sunshine,"  he 
muttered.  "Gad !  madam,  you  make  a  man  almost  afraid." 

Tim,  freed  from  the  duty  of  escorting  Dorothy,  wandered 
through  the  gardens  in  search  of  Adelaide.  He  found  her 
soon,  but  surrounded  by  acquaintances,  and  though  he  fol- 
lowed and  watched  her  the  afternoon  through,  he  could  get 
no  private  speech  with  her.  Only  just  on  the  eve  of  de- 
parture, when  she  waited  in  the  hall  while  Tracy  sought 
their  coach,  was  he  able  to  approach  her.  Celia  stood  a  little 
apart  talking  to  Lord  Robert  and  Rathborne,  and  Adelaide 
was  for  the  moment  alone. 

"I  must  speak  to  you,  Lady  Wimbourne,"  he  urged 
quickly.  "Will  you  give  me  a  moment?" 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Curtis?   Why  do  you  not  speak  to  my 


178  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

husband?"  said  Adelaide,  looking  at  him  with  a  frightened 
glance. 

"It  is  urgent,  madam,  and  private." 

Adelaide  stepped  back.  "Private !"  she  said  sharply.  "I 
have  no  private  affairs  with  you." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  madam,  be  reasonable,"  urged  Tim 
irritably.  "It  is  for  your  own  sake.  If  you  will  not  listen, 
Tracy  must  learn  what  you  have  done." 

"What  I  have  done  ?  Do  you  threaten  me  ?" 

"For  pity's  sake,"  cried  Tim  desperately.  But  her  agita- 
tion had  been  remarked  by  the  others.  In  a  moment  Lord 
Robert  was  by  her  side. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said  sharply,  "in  future  see  to  it  that 
you  leave  this  lady  unmolested,  or  I  shall  assuredly  call  you 
to  account." 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  toward  the  door.  Timothy 
fell  back  with  an  angry  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"A  wilful  woman  must  have  her  way,"  he  muttered.  "I  can 
do  no  more  for  her.  But  if  this  demmed  impertinence  is  to 
continue,  I  shall  be  plaguy  near  venting  my  temper  on 
somebody." 

He  returned  home  much  soured  in  temper.  He  had  no 
heart  for  the  coquettish  gaiety  of  Miss  Smallshaw,  so  he 
wandered  down  to  the  "Bear  Inn"  for  an  evening's  play. 
Early  though  it  was,  many  men  were  gathered  round  the 
tables,  and  in  a  few  minutes  after  his  arrival  Rory  entered, 
and  hailing  Tim  challenged  him  to  ecarte.  At  first  they 
played  with  varying  fortune,  then  Rory  began  steadily  to 
lose.  For  half  an  hour  he  bore  it  with  equanimity,  then  he 
became  restless.  With  unmoved  countenance  he  began  to 
have  recourse  to  the  various  most  approved  methods  of  win- 
ning luck.  First,  he  shifted  his  seat.  That  having  no  re- 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  179 

suit,  he  unfastened  a  seal  from  his  fob  and  placed  it  on  his 
stake.  Thirdly,  he  took  off  his  coat.  This  final  action  ap- 
peared to  appease  fortune,  for  luck  became  again  equal. 
Rory  sighed  with  relief. 

"Queer  thing,  Tim,"  he  said  solemnly;  "demmed  queer 
thing.  Dame  Fortune  is  as  hard  to  woo  as  a  woman." 

Tim  looked  across  and  nodded.  Then  he  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  his  deal,  his  eyes  riveted  on  Rory's  waistcoat.  The 
top  was  unbuttoned  and  in  the  opening  a  folded  paper.  In 
one  corner  of  the  paper  was  a  green  wafer,  a  "W"  inscribed 
in  a  circle  of  leaves ;  the  writing  was  in  the  same  hand  as  the 
note  he  had  received  on  the  eve  of  his  kidnapping. 

Tim  dropped  the  cards,  his  hand  shot  out  toward  Rory. 

"That's  mine !"  he  said  sharply.  "You  have  stolen  it  from 
my  room  this  morning." 

Rory  sprang  back,  upsetting  his  chair.  "What  the  devil 
are  you  talking  about?"  he  asked  angrily. 

"That  letter.  You  have  stolen  it  from  my  rooms." 

Rory  put  his  hand  up  to  the  paper,  and  pushed  it  out  of 
sight.  He  eyed  Tim  queerly. 

"If  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  crazy,  Tim,  I'd  call  you 
to  account  for  such  a  demmed  insolent  accusation,"  he  said 
angrily.  "Plague  take  you !  Are  you  the  only  man  in  the 
world  to  receive  a  billet-doux?" 

Many  eyes  were  turned  on  them  curiously  at  the  sound  of 
the  angry  voices  and  overturned  chair.  Rory  noted  this. 
He  picked  up  the  chair  and  leaned  across  the  table,  one 
hand  over  his  letter. 

"It's  like  enough  you've  had  letters  from  the  same  hand," 
he  said  softly.  "She's  plaguy — er — liberal.  But  this  is 
mine.  Another  time  keep  your  jealousy  chained  if  you'd 
play  with  gentlemen." 


180  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

He  picked  up  his  winnings,  and  throwing  on  hat  and  coat, 
strode  angrily  out  of  the  room. 

Tim  bit  his  lip  with  vexation.  He  recognised  the  reason- 
ableness of  Rory's  defence,  and  was  ashamed  of  the  impulse 
that  had  led  him  to  hurl  his  accusation  of  theft.  But  Rory's 
words  puzzled  him — they  would  seem  to  imply  that  the  let- 
ter was  not  from  Lady  Wimbourne.  Bewildered,  he  turned 
into  his  lodgings,  and  taking  his  stand  in  the  little  side 
window,  he  stared  out  at  the  house  of  the  coiffeuse.  He 
could  see  nothing,  the  alley  was  pitch  dark.  All  was  still, 
only  a  few  belated  revellers  at  the  neighbouring  tavern 
disturbed  the  silence  of  Boat-Stall  Lane. 

An  idle  whim  seized  him.  He  carried  a  lantern  to  his  win- 
dow sill  and  tilted  it  so  that  the  rays  of  light  were  focussed 
on  the  little  round  window  low  in  the  wall  opposite.  "Now," 
he  muttered,  "we'll  see  what  more  visions  the  crystal  will 
disclose." 

He  tied  a  coin  to  the  end  of  the  long  lash  of  his  riding 
whip,  and  leaning  out  swung  it  across  the  passage  and 
flicked  the  glass  sharply.  The  tap  of  the  coin  echoed 
against  the  high  blank  walls.  Again  and  again  he  re- 
peated the  experiment  with  no  result,  but  at  last  his  pa- 
tience was  rewarded.  A  large  red  hand  parted  the  curtains 
and  a  face  peered  out  into  the  darkness.  The  dim  light  of 
the  lantern  illumined  it,  and  Tim  recognised  the  cadaverous 
countenance  of  Mr.  John  Cogswell,  Mayor  of  Bath. 

Tim  drew  in  his  whip,  blew  out  his  lantern  and  sat  down 
with  a  blank  countenance  to  puzzle  out  the  situation.  What 
was  the  mayor  doing  in  a  house  he  had  expressly  desired  his 
co-operation  in  watching?  Was  he  hiding  there  the  better 
to  play  the  spy?  Was  he  prisoner?  Or  was  the  charge  of 
conspiracy  but  a  blind,  and  the  house  of  the  little  coiffeuse 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  181 

a  gathering-place  of  a  very  different  nature?  A  woman's 
figure  had  been  spied  on  the  roof,  a  woman's  face  had  ap- 
peared at  the  window.  It  was  very  clear  the  house  pos- 
sessed another  entrance  besides  the  demure  brown  door. 

Timothy  inclined  strongly  to  this  new  opinion.  He  rec- 
ollected a  distinct  nervous  reluctance  in  the  mayor's  man- 
ner on  the  occasion  of  his  visit ;  even  then  it  had  appeared 
that  he  was  urged  on  by  his  companions,  rather  than  eager 
himself.  It  was  quite  conceivable  that  the  house  was  used 
as  a  gambling  den,  or  as  a  convenient  spot  for  revels  of  an 
even  less  respectable  nature;  quite  conceivable  that  the 
mayor  lent  his  encouragement  privately  to  what  officially 
he  was  obliged  to  discountenance,  and  that  Josiah's 
suspicions  were  utterly  unfounded. 

The  more  he  thought  over  the  matter,  the  more  Timothy 
became  convinced  that  he  was  on  the  right  track.  With 
Charity  Farm  at  their  disposal,  it  seemed  inconceivable 
that  the  Jacobite  conspirators  should  wish  to  hold  meetings 
in  the  town,  where  the  danger  of  discovery  was  so  infinitely 
greater. 

What  Dorothy  Smallshaw  was  doing  in  such  a  house  it 
puzzled  him  but  little  to  guess.  Dorothy's  heart,  he  had  al- 
ready decided,  was  large  and  liberal,  and  such  a  house  would 
serve  as  a  convenient  meeting-place  with  one  whose  acquain- 
tance Lady  Westerby  might  refuse  to  countenance.  The 
world  is  full  of  adventures  and  Dorothy  an  heiress. 

Meanwhile,  behind  the  shuttered  and  shrouded  windows  of 
the  house  of  the  coiffeuse,  a  busy  scene  was  being  enacted. 
Men  in  shirt  sleeves,  with  sweating  foreheads  and 
panting  breaths,  were  toiling  busily,  carrying  heavy  cases 
up  the  narrow  stairway  from  a  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall 
where  they  were  piled,  and  stowing  them  away  securely  in 


182  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

the  long  upper  chamber,  the  windows  of  which,  heavily 
shuttered,  looked  out  upon  Boat-Stall  Lane.  The  whole  of 
this  room  was  lined  with  a  double  wall,  a  space  of  three 
feet  being  left  between  the  inner  wall  and  the  outer  one  of 
panelled  wainscot  which  could  be  pushed  aside.  In  this 
space  the  cases  were  hidden  away.  For  this  was  the  hiding- 
place  which  Marie  Grieve  had  prepared  with  the  help  of  the 
Dawsons  during  the  two  years  she  had  occupied  the  house, 
in  preparation  for  the  coming  of  the  Stuart. 

The  men  worked  rapidly,  toiling  up  the  stairs  with  case 
after  case  of  the  ammunition  they  had  brought  into  the 
town  in  sedan  chairs,  in  readiness  for  the  seizure  of  the  city 
for  King  James.  They  worked  silently  in  their  stocking- 
feet  ;  there  were  empty  rooms  between  the  stairway  and  the 
next  house,  but  it  was  clear  they  would  run  no  risk  of  dis- 
covery. 

Four  nights  they  had  toiled  thus,  stowing  away  each 
evening  what  they  had  sent  during  the  day,  for  the  carriers 
of  the  chairs  had  opportunity  only  to  deposit  their  burdens 
in  the  lower  room  during  the  daytime,  when  any  hour  might 
bring  a  genuine  visitor  to  the  coiffeuse.  But  now  the  last 
cases  had  been  cleared  from  the  farm,  and  as  midnight 
chimed  from  the  Abbey  clock,  the  final  one  was  stowed  be- 
hind the  wainscot,  and  the  weary  men  proceeded  to  clear 
away  every  trace  of  their  movements  and  to  put  on  their 
coats  preparatory  to  departure. 

"What's  that  queer  tapping?"  asked  Oliver  Shirley  sud- 
denly, lifting  his  head  to  listen.  "Cogswell,  can  you  see 
any  one  from  the  window?" 

The  mayor,  whose  Jacobite  sympathies  made  him  an  in- 
valuable ally  to  the  conspirators,  crossed  the  hall  and 
.peered  between  the  muslin  curtains. 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  183 

"Don't  lift  the  curtains,  you  gaby,"  whispered  Ormonde 
sharply ;  "there's  a  light  outside." 

Cogswell  dropped  the  curtains  and  stepped  back  with  a 
frightened  air.  "No  one  is  there,"  he  said.  "The  light  is  in 
Mr.  Curtis's  window." 

"Devil  take  the  fellow,  will  he  never  be  satisfied?"  mut- 
tered Marcus  savagely.  "  'Twas  you  set  him  on  this  house, 
Cogswell." 

"I  couldn't  help  myself,  sir ;  Smith  and  Simpson  forced  my 
hand,  and  indeed  then  I  supposed  he  would  be  a  less  danger- 
ous spy  than  that  d Josiah." 

"It's  my  opinion  he  has  had  too  long  a  rope  as  it  is,"  said 
Lord  Stavely.  "There  are  some  occasions  on  which  even 
assassination  is  justified  if  we  cannot  trap  him." 

"Here's  Tracy,"  said  a  voice  on  the  landing  above.  The 
men  trooped  up  the  stairs  and  encountered  Tracy  emerging 
from  a  small  room  at  the  back. 

His  customary  quiet  demeanour  was  disturbed;  his  eyes 
were  angry,  his  whole  appearance  bespoke  a  suppressed  irri- 
tation. The  men  crowded  round  him  with  eager  questioning. 

"Any  news,  Tracy?" 

"News !"  he  cried  irritably.  "How  should  I  know  ?  Here's 
a  despatch  come  from  McFee  at  Dunkirk,  and  I  can't  read 
a  word  of  it." 

"Can't  read  it?" 

"No.  It  is  in  cipher,  and  the  key  was  with  those  papers 
Curtis  has  stolen.  Devil  take  him !" 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence.  Then  Rory  began 
to  laugh  softly.  "It's  so  demmed  funny,"  he  said  apologet- 
ically. 

"Funny!"  cried  Tracy  angrily.  "It's  desperation!  The 
messenger " 


184.  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Ah !  what  does  he  say  ?" 

"He  knows  nothing  of  the  contents  of  the  despatches ;  but 
he  says  one  of  the  frigates  that  sailed  with  the  Prince  has 
returned  to  Dunkirk  disabled.  It  appears  they  fell  in  with 
the  English  fleet  off  Cornwall.  It  is  believed  that  the  Prince's 
ship  got  clean  away  and  sailed  north,  but  where  he  is  or 
what  his  plans  are  now,  Heaven  may  know,  I  don't." 

A  look  of  consternation  passed  round  the  circle.  Lord 
Stavely  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Stuart  luck !"  he  mut- 
tered resignedly. 

"And  here  is  this  despatch  from  McFee  as  useless  as  a 
bit  of  burnt  paper,"  muttered  Tracy,  staring  hopelessly  at 
a  roll  of  paper  he  drew  out  of  his  inner  pocket. 

"And  here  are  we  with  our  necks  in  the  noose,  and  blind 
as  addle-pated  owls,"  muttered  Oliver  Shirley  whimsically. 

Tracy  looked  round  with  a  remorseful  face.  "I'm  very 
sorry,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "My  carelessness  has  brought 
you  to  this." 

Lord  Robert  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Nonsense, 
Tracy,  you  are  not  responsible." 

"Egad !  no ;  'tis  that  cursed  spy  opposite,"  said  Stavely 
savagely. 

"For  my  part  I  feel  no  call  for  choking  yet,"  said 
Rory  gaily.  "The  noose  is  not  drawn  tight.  Give  me  the 
cipher,  Tracy ;  I've  worked  out  some  in  my  time,  and  it's 
possible  I  may  get  the  sense  of  this  one.  I  will  try  to- 
night." 

Tracy  handed  him  the  paper,  and  he  secreted  it  in  his  in- 
ner pocket. 

"It's  very  uncertain  you'll  be  able  to  decipher  it,"  he  said 
despondently.  "We  must  get  back  those  papers  from  Curtis 
by  some  means.  They  were  not  on  him  when  we  took  him; 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  185 

he  must  have  hidden  them  in  his  rooms,  for  our  necks  assure 
us  he  hasn't  sent  them  to  Pelham." 

"Lee  and  I  drew  his  rooms  this  morning,"  said  Stavely. 
"We  ransacked  every  nook  and  cranny." 

"And  found  nothing?" 

Stavely  hesitated.  "Not  what  we  sought.  But — er — Lee 
has  something  to  show  you,  Wimbourne." 

"Lee?   He  came  in  just  behind  me.   Where  is  he?" 

Roger  Lee  stepped  out  of  the  group ;  his  face  was  flushed 
with  embarassment. 

"I  would  not  have  told  you,  Wimbourne,"  he  said,  "only 
it's  too  risky,  it  must  be  stopped.  We  found  this  letter 
among  Curtis's  papers.  It  warns  him  of  our  plot  to  kidnap 
him  last  Wednesday,  and  it  is  written  by — a  woman." 

"A  woman?"  cried  Tracy.  "Nonsense.  What  woman  knew 
of  it?" 

"There's  but  one  woman  in  our  secrets,"  said  Stavely  signi- 
ficantly. "Your  wife,  Wimbourne." 

"My  wife!"  said  Tracy  sharply.  "Where  is  this  letter?" 
Lee  handed  him  the  scented  note.  Tracy  read  it  and  his  face 
grew  white.  He  passed  it  to  his  brother-in-law. 

"  5Tis  Laidie's  paper,  Rory,"  he  said  unsteadily.  "But  she 
has  disguised  her  hand." 

Rory  took  the  letter  and  examined  it  carefully ;  there  was 
a  queer  light  in  his  eyes. 

"This  is  not  Laidie's  doing,"  he  said  resolutely.  "Any  one 
could  steal  the  paper,  and  the  hand  is  not  disguised,  'tis  too 
regular." 

"But  what  other  woman  knew  of  the  affair?" 

"Miss  Smallshaw,"  suggested  Lord  Robert. 

"She  did  not  arrive  in  Bath  until  Thursday,"  said  Rory 
quickly. 


186  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Tracy  shook  his  head.  "It  is  my  wife's  paper  and  seal.  She 
was  aware  of  the  plot  to  lay  him  by  the  heels,  and  women 
are  very  pitiful.  If  you  will  permit  it,  gentlemen,  I  will 
make  this  my  affair." 

He  held  out  his  hand  for  the  letter.  Rory  retained  it,  eye- 
ing him  queerly.  "Gad!  Tracy,"  he  said,  "you  have  a 
genius  for  hunting  the  wrong  hare." 

Tracy  frowned.  "Give  me  the  letter,  Rory,"  he  said 
sharply. 

Still  Rory  hesitated.  "If  Laidie  denies  the  charge?"  he 
asked  slowly. 

Tracy  lifted  his  head  and  looked  round  the  circle  of  men. 
"If  my  wife  deny  the  charge,"  he  said  proudly,  "I  shall 
know  it  unfounded,  and  seek  elsewhere  for  the  writer." 

Rory  nodded,  satisfied,  and  handed  him  the  letter.  There 
were  one  or  two  doubtful  faces  in  the  group,  but  no  one 
made  any  further  objection. 

"And  now  for  Curtis  and  those  papers,"  said  Tracy. 
"What's  to  be  done?" 

"The  fellow  has  had  too  long  a  rope  already,  Wimbourne," 
urged  Stavely.  "The  papers  are  not  in  his  rooms ;  he  must 
carry  them  on  his  person  now.  In  any  case,  we  must  trap 
him  and  make  him  disgorge  them." 

"It  is  a  difficult  matter.  We  can't  take  him  openly;  we 
can't  risk  a  disturbance  at  his  rooms  and 

"He's  so  monstrous  careful  o'  the  night  air,"  said  Ormonde 
with  a  laugh. 

"Cannot  we  entice  him  here?"  suggested  Stavely.  "There 
must  be  some  lure  to  draw  the  fellow.  What  are  his  weak- 
nesses— wine,  women  or  cards?" 

Ormonde  shook  his  head.  "None  of  those  will  draw  him. 
He's  a  slippery  fish." 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  187 

"Well,  rack  your  brains  and  lose  no  chances,"  said  Tracy. 
"It's  time  we  were  away  now.  Is  all  safe  here  ?" 

They  picked  up  coats  and  hats  and  followed  Tracy  into 
the  little  room  at  the  back.  On  one  side  stood  a  tall  cup- 
board reaching  to  the  ceiling,  full  of  boxes,  cloths,  stands 
and  other  accessories  of  the  coiffeuse's  art.  A  rope  ladder 
hung  at  one  end  of  the  cupboard  from  a  trap  in  the  roof 
which  was  open.  Up  this  they  climbed  quickly,  one  by  one. 
They  pulled  up  the  ladder  behind  them,  unhooked  it,  and 
shut  down  the  trap,  replacing  the  loose  tiles  over  it. 

They  crept  silently  along  the  roofs  till  they  reached  an 
open  skylight,  through  which  they  climbed  down  into  the 
house  below,  a  little  tavern  in  Cock  Alley,  which  enjoyed  a 
bad  reputation  as  a  gambling  den.  As  they  passed  through 
the  house  they  encountered  no  one,  but  despite  the  late  hour 
the  place  was  still  astir ;  there  was  the  sound  of  voices,  the 
rattling  of  dice,  and  the  clinking  of  glasses  behind  the 
closed  doors.  A  man  who  sat  behind  the  bar  looked  up 
and  nodded  as  they  passed  him,  and  in  parties  of  two  and 
three  they  went  out  and  hurried  away  down  the  dark 
alley. 

Rory  was  the  last  to  cross  the  roof ;  he  paused  on  the  edge 
of  the  skylight  and  smiled  up  into  the  starlit  sky. 

"  'Twill  be  a  short  shrift  when  it  does  come,"  he  muttered. 
"And  I  felt  the  prick  at  my  throat  to-night.  Why  the  plague 
doesn't  Tim  burn  his  letters?  Well,  I  can't  go  back  on  my 
tracks  now,  and  it's  a  game  worth  the  playing;  there's  no 
stake  sends  the  blood  coursing  through  the  veins  like  the  risk 
of  a  man's  life.  But  I'd  give  my  left  hand  to  know  who 
holds  those  blessed  papers." 

He  dropped  down  into  the  attic,  but  he  did  not  follow  the 
others  out  of  the  house.  Instead  he  turned  to  the  left  down 


188  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

a  passage,  and  tapped  at  a  door  at  the  end.  A  weary  voice 
bade  him  enter.  Rory  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

At  the  far  side  of  the  room  a  girl  sat  sewing  wilh  an  air 
of  sullen  and  unwilling  industry.  She  took  no  notice  of 
his  entrance,  but  went  on  with  her  work  without  lifting  her 
head. 

Rory  watched  her  a  moment,  then  he  broke  into  his  low 
soft  laugh.  The  girl  wheeled  round  in  her  chair,  dropped 
her  work  and  springing  to  her  feet  ran  toward  him  with 
outstretched  arms. 

"Ah!"  she  cried  joyously;  "you've  come  again!" 

Rory  laughed,  patted  her  cheek  and  tucking  one  small 
brown  hand  under  his  arm  drew  her  across  the  room  to  her 
empty  chair.  He  sank  into  it  and  the  girl  seated  herself  on 
the  table  close  beside  him,  devouring  his  face  with  looks  of 
devotion. 

"Yes,  Martha,  my  dear,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  have  come 
again.  You  see  your  blue  eyes  are  not  so  easily  forgotten." 

The  girl  pouted.  "You  wouldn't  look  at  them  yesterday, 
Mr.  Winnington.  You  were  cruel  to  me." 

Rory  pinched  her  chin.  "You  chose  an  inopportune  mo- 
ment, my  pretty."  He  looked  idly  at  her  work-roughened 
fingers.  "So  you  are  being  a  good  girl  and  working  for 
your  living  again,  eh  ?" 

"Needs  must — or  starve,"  she  answered  sulkily. 

"Tut!  We'll  not  let  it  come  to  that.  Mother  Hobbes 
will  keep  you  off  the  street  till  we  find  you  a  stout 
husband." 

The  girl  wrenched  her  hand  away  angrily.  Rory  laughed. 

"You're  not  for  a  husband?  Egad !  you're  as  unreasonable 
as  every  other  woman.  Why  did  you  run  away  from  your 
place?" 


A  TANGLED  SKEIN  189 

"I  was  afeard  to  stay,  after  what  I'd  done  to  them,"  she 
muttered. 

He  shook  his  head.  "You  were  much  more  useful  to  me 
there." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "Ah !  you  think  o'  nothing  but 
how  I  can  serve  you,"  she  cried. 

Rory  took  her  face  between  his  hands  and  looked  thought- 
fully into  her  blue  eyes.  "You  pretty  pigeon,"  he  said 
slowly,  "I'd  give  much  to  know  what  other  men  have  found 
you  as  useful." 

"You're  monstrous  unkind,  Mr.  Winnington,"  she  sobbed. 
"I'd  ha'  done  it  for  no  man  but  you,  and  you  know  it.  I 
believe  I  hate  you." 

He  kissed  the  pouting  mouth  and  released  her.  Then  he 
drew  from  his  pocket  the  scented  note  Timothy  had  claimed 
earlier  in  the  evening. 

"You  sent  me  this?  Why?" 

"I — I  wanted  you  to  come  back  to  me." 

"Ah-h!  To  how  many  others  have  you  written  on  this 
paper,  which  I  gather  you  stole  from  your  mistress  ?" 

"I've  written  to  no  one  but  you — and  the  letter  you  made 
me  write  last  week  to  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  answered  sulkily. 

"Hum,  well,  possibly  you  are  speaking  the  truth.  But  now 
I  want  your  promise  not  to  be  too  liberal  with  your  letters, 
my  dear.  If  you  have  any  more  o'  this  paper,  burn  it,  and 
don't  let  your  pretty  writing  come  to  the  sight  of  Sir 
Tracy,  Mr.  Lee,  or  Lord  Robert  Dacre.  Promise?" 

The  girl  eyed  him  wonderingly.  "Why?"  she  asked  defi- 
antly. 

"Because  they  are  on  the  track  of  the  writer  of  that  letter 
to  warn  Mr.  Curtis.  Should  they  learn  the  truth,  the  conse- 
quences would  be  almost  as  awkward  for  you  as  for  me." 


190  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

She  set  her  mouth  obstinately.  "What  does  it  matter  what 
happens  to  me?"  she  said.  "Much  you  would  care." 

Rory  eyed  her  with  his  whimsical  smile.  "As  you  will,  my 
dear.  But  the  consequences  to  me  would  be  unpleasant — 
demmed  unpleasant." 

For  a  moment  she  wavered,  then  she  snatched  his  hand  and 
covered  it  with  kisses.  "Ah !  you  know,  you  know,  I  wouldn't 
have  you  hurt.  I'll  write  no  more  to  any  but  you." 

He  patted  her  cheek.  "Good  girl.  I  knew  you'd  be  reason- 
able. But  don't  write  to  me  again,  child.  'Tisn't  safe." 

"Then  you  will  come  and  see  me,"  she  pleaded.  "You  will 
come  to-morrow?" 

He  nodded  carelessly  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  see  you  again,  never  fear." 

"And  you  won't  drive  me  away  as  you  did  before?"  she 
cried  suspiciously,  clinging  to  his  hand.  "You  won't  be  so 
cruel  and  you  will  come?  You  won't  forget?" 

He  released  himself  gently  from  her  clinging  hands. 
"Little  fool !"  he  said  caressingly,  "you  must  let  me  go 
now.  I'll  not  forget  you,  but  you  must  learn  to  be  content. 
And  get  a  husband,  girl ;  there  will  be  too  many  bees  where 
the  honey  is  so  sweet.  It's  high  time  you  learnt  wisdom." 

He  pushed  her  gently  from  him  and  strode  away  whistling, 
but  she  dropped  her  face  on  her  arms  and  burst  into  angry 
sobbing. 

"I  hate  him !  hate  him  !"  she  cried  savagely.  "Ah !  how  I 
wish  I  could  hate  him !" 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  iLURE 

WHEN  Sir  Tracy  Wimbourne  reached  home  after  his 
meeting  with  the  conspirators  in  the  deserted  house,  his  wife 
was  already  in  bed  and  asleep.  He  went  softly  into  her 
room,  and  stood  looking  down  at  her  as  she  lay,  with  one 
white  arm  flung  wide  across  the  coverlet,  and  her  dark  hair 
half  shrouding  her  face.  His  stern  eyes  softened  as  he 
watched  her. 

"I  will  not  disturb  her  to-night,"  he  resolved ;  "to-morrow 
will  be  time  enough,  poor  child!  If  it  be  treachery,  'twas 
pity  that  prompted  it." 

But  as  he  turned  away  he  tripped  on  the  rug  and  woke  her. 
She  started  up  with  a  cry  and  slipped  her  hand  mechanically 
under  her  pillow.  "Who  is  it  ?"  she  whispered  breathlessly. 

Tracy  turned  back.  "Ah !  you  are  awake,  Laidie.  I  came 
in  to  speak  to  you.  But  wait  till  to-morrow,  dear." 

"No,  no,  Tracy ;  what  is  it  ?"  she  cried  eagerly,  sitting  up 
and  brushing  back  the  hair  from  her  eyes.  "Has  the  Prince 
come  ?" 

He  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed  and  took  her  hand.  "Don't 
be  afraid,  dear,  'tis  not  serious.  But  we  had  a  meeting  to- 
night and  Roger  Lee  brought  me  this.  He  found  it  in  Mr. 
Curtis'  rooms." 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  the  letter.  A  frightened  look 
crept  into  her  eyes.  "In  his  rooms  ?"  she  whispered.  "What 
is  it?" 

He  handed  her  the  note.   She  opened  it  quickly  and  a  look 


192  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

of  relief  crossed  her  face.  "Who  wrote  it?"  she  asked 
simply. 

Tracy  watched  her  doubtfully.  "That  is  what  we  must  dis- 
cover," he  said  slowly ;  "it  is  your  paper,  Laidie." 

"Yes,"  she  cried  indignantly,  "my  paper  and  seal.  What 
impertinent  has  dared  to  use  it?" 

"You  know  nothing  of  it?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"I  ?  Tracy !"  she  cried  quickly,  "you  don't — you  couldn't 
suspect  me?" 

"Who  else  knew  of  the  plot  to  entrap  him?  Did  you  tell 
any  one?  Celia?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No.  Oh!  surely,  surely  you  know  I 
could  not  betray  your  plans,"  she  pleaded.  "I've  been  care- 
less, ah,  so  careless,  you've  no  reason  to  trust  me  again  ;  but 
you  know  I  could  not  betray  you." 

"Pity  drives  a  woman  down  queer  paths,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Pity !"  she  cried  contemptuously.  "Do  you  think  I  pity 
him?  I  would  gladly  see  him  killed  if  that  would  spare  you 
one  finger-ache.  And  yet  he  has  been  very  good  to  me,"  she 
added  softly. 

Tracy  took  her  hands  in  his.  "Laidie,  you  must  give  me 
your  word  of  honour  that  you  know  nothing  of  this  letter," 
he  said  sternly. 

"Tracy !"  she  cried  indignantly.  Then  she  bowed  her  head 
with  a  pitiful  little  smile.  "Yes,  yes,  you  are  right,"  she 
said  humbly,  "I  have  not  deserved  your  trust.  But  I  swear, 
by  my  love  for  you,  that  I  know  nothing  of  it." 

He  kissed  her.   "Then  think  no  more  of  it,  dear." 

"Ah,  but,  Tracy,  I  must !  The  others  will  not  believe  me. 
Let  me  do  something  to  prove  my  faith.  Let  me  help  in  the 
work." 

"No,  I  will  not  have  you  concerned  more  in  the  affair." 


THE  LURE  193 

Her  face  fell.  "You  don't  trust  me  yet?" 

"Yes,  I  trust  you — but " 

"You  would  not  give  me  more  occasion  than  needs  to  try 
your  trust,"  she  said  with  a  sob.  "Ah !  let  me  help." 

He  soothed  her  tenderly  but  would  give  no  heed  to  her 
prayer  for  confidence,  and  when  he  left  her  at  last,  she  felt 
his  trust  hung  in  the  balance,  and  resolved  to  take  her  own 
path  and  prove  her  innocence. 

Tracy,  alone  in  his  dressing  room,  shook  his  head  over 
the  mystery  of  the  letter.  "Lai die  is  cleared,"  he  said 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "There  remains  Celia.  If  she  has 
written  it,  knowing  what  she  does  about  him,  Heaven 
help  her." 

The  following  morning  Adelaide  drew  Lord  Robert  aside 
on  the  terrace  of  the  walks  and  urged  her  plea  to  help  in 
the  work  of  conspiracy. 

"Tracy  has  told  me  of  the  letter,"  she  began  rapidly,  "he 
believes  me,  but " 

"So  do  we  all,  madam,"  said  Lord  Robert  earnestly. 

"No,  not  in  your  hearts.  I  must  prove  my  faith.  Help 
me.  What  can  I  do  to  show  my  sincerity?  Tell  me  your 
plans  with  regard  to  Mr.  Curtis,  and  let  me  help  you  to  per- 
fect them ;  I  will  so  willingly  do  anything." 

Lord  Robert  hesitated. 

"You  see,  you  do  not  trust  me,"  she  said  sadly. 

"I  do,  madam,"  he  answered  slowly ;  "I  will  prove  it,  for  I 
think  you  can  help.  We  must  seize  this  man,  it  has  become 
an  absolute  necessity.  We  must  entice  him  at  night  into  the 
house  in  Peter's  Wynd.  Do  you  know  any  bait  likely  to 
dra-w  him  ?" 

Adelaide  wrinkled  her  brows.  "No,"  she  said  slowly,  "none 
save " 


194  THE  FAIR  MOON  OP  BATH 

"None  save  that  which  we  cannot  use  without  your  sister's 
permission,"  he  said,  interpreting  her  thoughts. 

She  nodded.  "We  shall  not  win  that  permission ;  and,  in- 
deed, I  would  not  have  her  drawn  into  the  affair.  But  there 
must  be  some  other  lure.  I — I  will  speak  with  him  to-night 
at  Lady  Westerby's  ball.  Surely  I  will  learn  his  desires  and 
find  some  way  to  draw  him.  Let  this  be  my  work,  to  prove 
my  loyalty." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "You  would  do  this,  madam  ?" 

"Yes,  willingly,"  she  answered.  Then  she  stopped  with  a 
quick  intake  of  her  breath.  "Ah !  but  you  will  not  kill  him  ?" 
she  asked. 

"We  want  the  papers,  madam — no  more,"  he  answered 
ambiguously.  She  was  satisfied  and  asked  no  more. 

"Adelaide,  have  you  seen  the  china  in  Mr.  Hall's  shop  in 
the  High  street?"  asked  Lucy  de  Putren  at  her  elbow. 
"Celia  and  I  are  bound  thither.  Do  come  with  us  and  help 
in  my  choice." 

The  company  was  already  dispersing.  The  three  ladies 
turned  out  into  the  Grove  and  bent  their  steps  toward  the 
old  shop  at  the  top  of  the  High  street. 

Now  it  chanced  that  Mr.  Hall  had  business  at  the  Guild- 
hall that  morning.  His  apprentice  had  played  truant  to  go 
a-fishing,  so  he  had  prevailed  upon  his  lodger,  a  rare  con- 
noisseur in  china,  to  take  his  place  in  the  shop. 

When  the  three  ladies  entered  the  shop,  the  lodger  was 
critically  examining  an  old  piece  of  Venetian  glass,  and 
was  so  engrossed  with  its  virtues  that  he  entirely  forgot  his 
post  as  salesman.  When  recalled  to  his  duties  by  Adelaide, 
he  flung  himself  eagerly  into  the  work  of  displaying  the 
wares,  but  mingled  so  much  frank  criticism  with  his  valua- 
tion that  the  customers  eyed  him  with  amazed  amusement. 


THE  LURE  195 

"Methinks  you  are  a  better  connoisseur  than  merchant, 
Mr. " 

"Smith,  madam.  Josiah  Smith,  at  your  service,"  said  the 
man,  bowing  humbly. 

"Lud!  Mr.  Smith,  if  you  give  all  your  customers  such 
frank  advice,"  continued  Adelaide,  laughing,  "there  is,  I 
fear,  much  of  your  stock  likely  to  lack  purchasers." 

Josiah  looked  distressed.  "Indeed,  madam,  Mr.  Hall  has 
a  most  rare  collection  of  modern  ware,  well  deserving  your 
notice.  But  for  antique — "  he  stopped  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders. 

"You  have  a  poor  opinion  of  its  value  ?  Pray,  why  do  you 
stock  it  ?"  asked  Lucy  de  Putren. 

"This  is  not  my  shop,  milady,"  explained  Josiah  hur- 
riedly, "I  am  but  obliging  Mr.  Hall  for  an  hour  this  morn- 
ing." 

"But  this  vase,"  said  Adelaide,  pointing  to  a  piece  of 
Venetian  glass,  "this  is  beautiful  and  rare  of  a  surety." 

"Well  enough,  well  enough,"  he  answered  tolerantly,  "but 
I  could  show  you  one  in  the  city  ten  times  its  value,  madam, 
and  purchasable  for  half  the  price." 

"Lud !  I  must  see  this  rarity.  Where  is  it  ?" 

"In  a  potter's  shop  in  Boat-Stall  Lane,  milady,  hard  by 
the  east  gate,  barely  three  minutes'  walk  from  here.  If  you 
wish  it,  I  will  go  there  with  your  ladyship,  and  see  that  the 
potter — who  is  but  a  Jew — asks  the  same  price  as  he  wished 
me  to  pay  him." 

"I  should  be  monstrously  obleeged.  But  may  you  leave 
your  shop  unattended?" 

"I  will  ask  the  neighbour  to  send  his  'prentice  in  for  a  few 
minutes,"  said  Josiah,  with  all  a  true  connoisseur's  eager- 
ness to  see  a  treasure  find  worthy  purchaser.  The  appren- 


196  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

tice  was  called,  and  the  three  ladies  turned  down  Boat-Stall 
Lane,  with  Josiah  walking  humbly  beside  them  in  the 
gutter. 

"Laidie,  you  are  crazed  on  your  glass,"  laughed  Celia, 
"you  will  ruin  poor  Tracy  with  your  vagaries." 

"For  my  part  I  warrant  you  will  find  your  purchase  less  of 
a  rarity  than  your  guide,"  laughed  Lucy;  "he  is  an 
eccentric." 

As  they  passed  the  end  of  Peter's  Wynd,  the  passage  lead- 
ing down  into  Cock  Alley,  Celia's  eyes  were  caught  by  the 
name  on  the  brown  door.  She  stopped. 

"Lucy,  here  is  the  coiffeuse  of  whom  Lady  Esdaile  spoke. 
I  would  gladly  try  her  skill.  Our  new  maid  has  the  fingers 
of  a  milkmaid.  What  do  you  say?  Shall  we  leave  Laidie 
to  visit  her  potter  and  call  on  Madame  Grieve?" 

"Willingly,"  cried  Lucy,  "I  am  curious  to  see  the  woman." 

Adelaide  looked  at  them  nervously.  "You  little  vanity, 
Celia!"  she  cried.  "Be  content  as  you  are  and  come  and 
help  me  choose  my  glass." 

"No,  Laidie,  I  would  liefer  wait  here,"  objected  Celia. 
"We  have  not  overmuch  time  to  spare,  and  I  warrant  you 
will  be  an  hour  at  least  among  your  pots  and  pans.  Come 
to  us  at  Madame  Grieve's  when  you  have  made  your 
purchase." 

Adelaide,  fearing  to  rouse  suspicion,  made  no  further  ob- 
jection, and  indeed  there  was  nothing  to  fear  from  the  visit. 
Many  of  her  acquaintances  were  regular  clients  of  Madame 
Grieve.  Celia  and  Lucy  turned  down  toward  the  brown 
doorway,  and  she  went  on  to  the  potter's  shop  with  Josiah. 

As  Celia  had  prophesied,  when  Adelaide  found  herself 
among  curios,  time  and  money  lost  all  value  for  her.  She 
made  many  purchases  under  Josiah's  guidance,  and  full 


THE  LURE  197 

half  an  hour  elapsed  before  she  emerged  with  him  from  the 
dark  little  shop  and  parted  from  him  in  the  doorway. 

"Do  you  hasten  back  to  your  duties,  Mr.  Smith,"  she 
urged.  "I  will  rejoin  my  friends.  I  fear  I  have  detained 
you  a  monstrous  long  time." 

"Indeed,  madam,  'tis  a  j  oy  to  meet  a  lady  with  such  a  rare 
taste  in  china.  But  now,  if  your  ladyship  can  spare  me,  I 
will  run  back  and  see  how  Mr.  Hall's  business  fares." 

"Do  so,  and  accept  my  grateful  thanks,"  said  Adelaide, 
dismissing  him  with  a  wave  of  her  hand. 

Josiah  hurried  along  Boat-Stall  Lane,  and  disappeared 
round  the  corner,  while  Adelaide  strolled  slowly  after  him 
and  turned  into  Peter's  Wynd. 

But  their  parting  had  been  witnessed  by  a  pair  of  amazed 
eyes.  Timothy  Curtis,  coming  out  of  the  Mews  by  the 
east  gate,  was  just  in  time  to  see  the  couple  emerge  from 
the  dark  shop.  He  recognised  them  both,  and  the  sight 
of  these  two,  so  inexplicably  met  in  eager  conversation, 
put  the  final  point  to  his  assurance  of  Adelaide's  espionage. 
Without  doubt  she  was  the  other  assistant  of  Lord  Pel- 
ham,  whose  name  Josiah  had  so  loyally  refused  to 
divulge. 

Timothy  resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  facing  her  with  the 
accusation  of  guilt  and  pleading  with  her  to  clear  him  at 
least  in  her  sister's  eyes.  And  of  late  a  new  plague  had 
come  to  torture  him,  the  pangs  of  jealousy.  While  Celia 
moved  in  a  crowd  of  suitors  and  smiled  upon  all  alike,  or 
reserved  her  special  favours  for  boys  like  Peter  Pemberton, 
Timothy  had  no  fears,  but  of  late  it  had  been  noticeable 
that  Charles  Rathborne  enjoyed  an  especial  amount  of  her 
confidence.  He  was  seldom  absent  from  her  side,  and  Tim 
lived  in  constant  dread  lest  the  slender  chain  by  which  he 


198  THE  FAIR  MOON  OP  BATH 

held  her  love  snap  asunder,  and  she  grow  weary  of  trust- 
ing one  whom  all  the  world  else  held  contemptible. 

For  he  did  not  know  that  a  woman's  love,  once  won,  can 
never  wholly  die,  though  she  strive  with  all  her  power  to 
drive  its  memory  from  her  heart. 

There  was  another  and  less  vital  consideration  that  urged 
Tim  to  bring  affairs  to  a  crisis.  His  creditors  had 
relaxed  their  pressure  since  his  uncle's  arrival  on  the  scene, 
but  he  was  very  hard  pressed  for  money,  and  his  ap- 
plication to  Lord  Westerby  brought  but  scant  assist- 
ance. 

"You're  demmed  extravagant,  my  boy,"  said  his  lordship 
sternly.  "Do  you  eat  money  ?  Eh !  What !" 

"I  don't  fling  it  as  wide  as  you  did,  sir,  I'll  warrant,"  an- 
swered Tim  coolly. 

The  old  man's  eyes  twinkled  at  sportive  recollections. 
"Gad!  it's  a  costly  world,"  he  sighed.  "We  pay  the  full 
price  for  all  our  pleasures,  whether  it  be  in  gold,  gout,  or 
demme !  nephews.  But  for  this  present  matter — mend  your 
own  fortunes,  Timothy.  Here's  Dorothy  Smallshaw  at 
hand  to  help  you." 

Tim  shook  his  head.    "She  doesn't  want  me,  sir." 

"Woo  her,  woo  her,  boy.  If  you've  an  ounce  of  the  old 
stock  in  you,  you  should  know  the  way." 

"I  will  not.  She  would  make  a  man  a  merry  wife,  I 
grant  you,  but  I'd  as  lief  be  permitted  to  be  serious  on  oc- 
casion." 

Lord  Westerby  eyed  him  shrewdly.  "Your  taste  is  a  trifle 
too  cultured,  my  boy.  But  I  don't  blame  you.  I  am  with 
you  in  esteeming  the  pearl  a  purer  gem  than  the  brilliant. 
So  look  you,  Tim:  woo  this  pearl,  this  moon  among  stars, 
and  when  you  win  her,  I'll  pay  the  price  of  your  success." 


THE  LURE  199 

Timothy  turned  away  without  speaking.  His  uncle  fol- 
lowed and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Tim,  have  you  forgot  that  you  own  a  sword  ?"  he  asked. 

Tim  shook  his  head.  "A  string  of  pinked  throats  will  not 
convince  a  woman,"  he  said  despondently. 

"Maybe  not,  but  'twill  teach  her  you  are  to  be  feared,  and 
that  is  the  first  step  to  love,  with  most  of  'em." 

So  Timothy  resolved  to  play  his  stake  with  Adelaide,  and 
awaited  her  arrival  at  his  aunt's  ball  with  desperate  deter- 
mination to  force  her  to  an  interview. 

To  his  surprise  the  task  was  not  difficult.  He  approached 
her  side  in  confident  expectation  of  a  rebuff,  but  she  yielded 
at  once  to  his  petition  for  her  hand  in  the  dance,  and  when 
the  minuet  was  over  suffered  him  to  lead  her  out  into  the 
quiet  garden.  He  was  astonished,  but  supposed  she  had 
thought  over  his  threat  of  the  previous  day,  and  had  re- 
solved that  her  wisest  course  would  be  to  hear  him. 

When  he  was  alone  with  her  at  last,  he  found  an  unex- 
pected difficulty  in  broaching  the  subject,  and  conscious 
that  he  had  not  much  time  at  his  disposal,  wasted  some 
minutes  in  awkward  silence.  He  was  too  preoccupied  with 
his  own  thoughts  to  notice  a  like  hesitation  in  Adelaide's 
manner. 

At  last,  as  is  ever  the  way  with  one  who  seeks  a  delicate 
opening  for  a  subject,  he  lost  patience  with  diplomacy  and 
plunged  headlong  into  the  matter. 

"Lady  Wimbourne,"  he  began  bluntly,  "I  have  discovered 
the  secret  of  your  midnight  meeting  at  Avington.  I  know 
what  you  have  undertaken,  and  unless  you  will  yourself 
clear  me  of  this  charge  you  have  trumped  up  against  me, 
Tracy  must  learn  the  truth." 

He  was  prepared  for  some  emotion  upon  Adelaide's  part, 


200  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

but  not  for  the  face  of  blank  astonishment  she  turned  to 
him  at  his  words. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  she  cried,  "I  fail  to  comprehend  a  word  of 
your  speech.  That  you  overheard  the  object  of  my  meet- 
ing with  Captain  McFee  I  have  long  understood — to  my 
sorrow;  but  for  the  rest — what,  pray,  have  I  undertaken, 
and  what  must  Tracy  learn?" 

"The  name  of  the  thief  who  stole  his  papers,  madam,"  said 
Tim  sternly,  angered  by  what  he  judged  her  ready  dissimu- 
lation. 

"I  thought  you  were  aware,  Mr.  Curtis,  that  Tracy  has 
already  learned  that  name,"  she  answered  coldly. 

"I'm  aware,  madam,  you've  trumped  up  an  absurd  accusa- 
tion against  me,"  answered  Tim  irritably — "an  accusa- 
tion which  I  must  insist  upon  your  withdrawing." 

"Really,  sir,  you  are  amazing,"  said  Adelaide  sharply. 
"Why  should  I  withdraw  what  I  believe  to  be  true?" 

"Because  you  have  no  such  belief.  Because  you  know  bet- 
ter than  any  my  innocence.  Ah!  Lady  Wimbourne,"  he 
broke  out  entreatingly,  "be  reasonable.  Believe  me,  I 
have  no  will  to  harm  you.  Prove  me  but  honest  in  Celia's 
eyes,  and  I  swear  the  rest  of  the  world  shall  never  learn 
from  me  of  your — your  mistaken  zeal  for  King  George." 

"King  George !"  she  echoed  blankly.  "Faith !  Mr.  Cur- 
tis, I  can't  follow  you." 

Tim  lost  his  temper.  "Do  you  wish  me  to  be  more  ex- 
plicit, madam?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"I'd  be  monstrous  obleeged  if  you  would  give  me  some 
clue  to  your  meaning,"  she  answered  scornfully. 

"Then  listen,  madam.  The  papers  Tracy  committed  to 
your  keeping  you  yourself  have  stolen,  delivering  them 
over  to  a  stranger  at  dawning  at  Avington.  You  are  in 


THE  LURE  201 

the  pay  of  Lord  Pclham  to  watch  the  Jacobites,  and  in  or- 
der to  clear  yourself  from  suspicion,  you  have  blackened 
me  in  the  eyes  of  all  my  friends.  Is  that  sufficiently  ex- 
plicit, madam?" 

Adelaide  stopped  dead  in  the  middle  of  the  walk  and 
turned  deliberately  to  face  him.  "Upon  my  soul !  Mr.  Cur- 
tis," she  gasped ;  "upon  my  soul !"  She  broke  into  a  little 
laugh  which  she  checked  as  quickly.  "But  you  are  insolent, 
sir,"  she  said  haughtily.  "Your  explanation  is  as  imperti- 
nent as  it  is  absurd." 

"Nevertheless,  madam,  I  have  proofs  of  its  truth." 

"Proofs?    What  are  they,  pray?" 

"Your  meeting  with  this  stranger  at  Avington.  Your  ac- 
cusation against  myself.  Your  letter  of  warning.  Finally, 
your  talk  this  very  morning  with  Lord  Pelham's  second 

spy." 

Adelaide  flushed.  "  'Tis  unreasonable  I  should  defend  my- 
self to  you,  but  I  will  be  just  and  do  so.  Know,  then,  I 
wrote  no  letter  of  warning,  I  spoke  with  no  spy,  and  for 
the  stranger — he  was  none  other  than  the  Jacobite  envoy 
who  intrusted  the  papers  to  my  keeping.  Of  the  truth  of 
this  Tracy  will  assure  you,  if  you  choose  to  broach  the  sub- 
ject to  my  husband.  In  truth,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  added, 
with  a  scornful  smile,  "I  do  not  wonder  you  wished  to  spare 
Tracy  knowledge  of  my  doings." 

Tim  was  staggered:  all  his  carefully  built  up  evidence 
tumbled  to  the  ground.  "But — but  Josiah  Smith?"  he 
gasped  helplessly.  "You  were  with  him  this  morning?" 

"Josiah  Smith?  Ah!  my  guide  to  the  purchase  of  old 
china.  Is  he  a  spy  ?  It  seems  you  have  a  greater  acquaint- 
ance with  the  breed  than  I,  Mr.  Curtis." 

Timothy  stood  silent.     He  was  inexpressibly  relieved  to 


202 

find  his  suspicions  unfounded,  but  utterly  at  a  loss  to  know 
where  to  found  new  ones.  Adelaide  eyed  him  quizzically. 

"Your  accusation,  Mr.  Curtis,  was  founded  on  very  slen- 
der proofs,"  she  said. 

"No  more  slender  than  those  you  hold  against  me, 
madam?"  he  answered  testily. 

Adelaide  started.  "I  wonder — "  she  muttered.  "No,  no, 
Mr.  Curtis,  even  without  our  knowledge  that  Lord  Pel- 
ham  bought  your  services,  we  could  prove  you  guilty.  For 
none  save  you  knew  I  held  the  papers.  On  your  own  show- 
ing you  saw  Captain  McFee  give  them  into  my  hands." 

"I  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  And  if  I  had,  what  then? 
How  do  you  claim  I  took  them?" 

"By  the  simple  expedient,  Mr.  Curtis,  of  bribing  my 
maid." 

"Your  maid?  Martha?  Does  she  accuse  me?  Where  is 
she?  Heavens!  I'll  drag  the  truth  out  of  her  if  I  have 
to  scare  her  witless  first.  Where  is  she?" 

"You  should  know  best.  She  ran  away  after  doing  your 
work.  I  have  no  trace  of  her." 

"If  she  knows  the  truth  I'll  find  her,  if  it  cost  me  my  life," 
he  muttered  savagely.  "The  lying  minx !" 

Adelaide  started.  "Ah-h!"  she  said  thoughtfully.  She 
gave  a  little  gasp  of  excitement ;  here  was  the  lure  she 
sought. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  slowly,  "you  pretend  innocence, 
but  it  seems  to  me  you  do  protest  too  much.  Yet,  if  you 
can  find  this  girl  and  draw  the  truth  from  her,  'twould  be 
the  surest  proof  of  your  honesty." 

Tim  listened  eagerly.  "You  can  give  me  no  clue,  madam  ?" 

Adelaide  hesitated.  "I  believe  she  is  still  in  Bath.  She 
had  relatives  here.  I  will  inquire  among  my  servants,  and 


THE  LURE 

if  I  can  find  trace  of  her  whereabouts  I  will  let  you  know." 

"Lady  Wimbourne,  I'm  grateful.  And  in  the  mean- 
time  ?" 

"In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Curtis,  I  hold  to  my  former  opin- 
ion, and  beg  that  you  will  not  further  weary  me  with  your 
accusations.  Now  take  me  back  to  the  house." 

In  the  brightly  lighted  house  the  gay  company  were  do- 
ing their  utmost  to  atone  for  their  previous  day's  depres- 
sion. There  was  no  lack  of  liveliness  at  Lady  Westerby's 
ball.  Perhaps  Miss  Smallshaw  infected  the  guests  with  her 
own  spirit,  for  revelry  ran  high,  and  more  than  once  the 
stately  hostess  lifted  her  eyebrows  at  an  unconventional 
levity  that,  in  her  opinion,  would  better  have  graced  a 
tavern  kitchen  than  the  floor  of  a  lady's  drawing-room. 

"  'Twas  vastly  different  in  my  young  days,  Tim,"  she 
said  to  her  nephew  under  her  breath.  "For  pity's  sake  go 
and  silence  that  child  Dorothy.  She's  the  best-hearted  girl 
in  England,  but  as  rattle-brained  as — as  your  friend  Mr. 
Winnington.  In  my  day,  a  few  subjects  were  still  held 
sacred,  but  our  wit  did  not  halt  for  lack  of  them.  But  now- 
adays— "  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  expressively.  "The 
world  goes  so  fast,  Tim,  that  it  has  no  choice  left  it  save 
to  grow  shallow,  shallow,  shallow.  Go  talk  to  Dorothy." 

Timothy  reluctantly  crossed  the  room  to  the  girl's  side. 
She  greeted  him  with  a  bright  glance  of  pleasure. 

"Here  comes  Mr.  Curtis,  the  crystal-gazer,"  she  cried 
saucily.  "Have  you  again  been  studying  the  mysteries  of 
the  glass?" 

"Yes,  madam,"  he  answered,  eyeing  her  coolly. 

"Lud!   You're  persistent.    And  what  said  the  oracle?" 

"Faith !  that  when  a  woman  looks  out  of  a  window,  'tis  like 
enough  a  man  is  at  her  back." 


204  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Dorothy  started.    "A  man?    What  manner  of  a  man ?" 

"One,  madam,  who  would  liefer  greet  her  in  the  darkness 
than  walk  with  her  in  the  light,"  he  answered,  with  a  signifi- 
cant smile,  and  bowing,  walked  away. 

His  interruption  effectually  silenced  Dorothy's  chatter; 
she  stared  after  him  in  amazement. 

"What  is  his  meaning  now?"  she  gasped. 

"Don't  seek  to  fathom  it,  madam,"  said  Sir  Simon.  "  'Tis 
well  known  he's  been  crazed  this  sennight  past." 

"Crazed!    What  ails  him?" 

"He  has  been  moonstruck,"  laughed  Sir  Simon. 

Rory  frowned.  He  stooped  over  Dorothy.  "Shall  we  after 
him,  madam,  and  make  him  expound  his  meaning?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  questioningly,  then  gave  him  her 
hand,  and  together  they  walked  through  the  room. 

"I  have  had  the  most  pestilential  lecture  from  Tracy  Wim- 
bourne,"  said  Rory  pathetically.  "Concerning  yourself, 
madam." 

"Lud!  A  monstrous  pleasing  subject;  what  saith  Sir 
Tracy?" 

"He  blames  my  free  confidence  and  your  ready  tongue." 

"He  need  have  small  fears.  In  a  blind  world  a  one-eyed 
man  is  king — these  bats  look  for  no  meaning  in  my  words. 
For  your  confidences — am  I  not  one  of  the  band?" 

"You  are,  and  Tracy  is  mightily  grateful  for  your  sub- 
scriptions, but  he  would  have  you  take  his  use  of  them  on 
trust." 

She  laughed.     "Lud!  He's  monstrous  prudent." 

"A  man  with  one  foot  on  the  scaffold  is  like  to  be." 

"Does  he  know  of  my  visits  to  the  house  ?" 

"Gad !  no,  madam.  Tracy's  tongue  once  loosed  is  plaguy 
unpleasant." 


THE  LURE  205 

She  grimaced.  "I  vow  he  is  selfish.  Am  I  to  have  all  the 
expense  of  conspiracy  and  none  of  its  pleasures?  I  shall 
lodge  a  complaint  when  his  Highness  arrives." 

They  passed  out  into  the  garden.  Rory  stooped  and 
looked  questioningly  into  her  face.  "Lady  mine,"  he  said 
coolly,  "I  can  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  jealous." 

She  gave  a  soft  laugh  of  pleasure.  "Jealous  !  Of  whom  ? 
Of  the  Prince?" 

"Faith!  No.  Of  the  look  in  your  eyes  when  they  greet 
Timothy  Curtis." 

She  flushed.     "He  is  an  honest  man,  Mr.  Winnington." 

"The  breed  is  not  so  rare,  madam.  Is  it  for  that  you  love 
him?" 

"Love?    Who  spoke  of  love?     I  think  I  fear  him." 

"Yet  fear  begets  admiration  and  admiration  love.  I  am 
jealous." 

Again  she  gave  her  soft  glad  laugh.  "Admiration  begets 
love  ?  Not  with  women !  'Tis  a  well-known  fact  that 
the  blackest-hearted  vagabonds  win  the  most  loving 
wives." 

Rory  laughed.  "If  I  cry  myself  vagabond,  madam,  will 
you—  -?" 

"Will  I  believe  it?"  she  interrupted,  laughing.  "  'Twould 
not  be  difficult.  But  a  vagabond  should,  at  least,  have  the 
grace  to  pretend  honesty." 

"Yet  to  win  his  wife " 

"What?  Would  you  deny  honour  for  a  woman?  For  one 
woman  ?" 

"Honour !"  he  laughed  grimly.  "A  bubble,  madam,  swol- 
len with  the  breath  of  centuries  of  talkers.  I  grant  you  it 
wears  well  enough  in  the  sunshine,  but  comes  the  rain,  blows 
the  tempest,  and  your  bubble  bursts." 


206  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"You  do  indeed  cry  yourself  scoundrel,  Mr.  Winnington," 
she  said  with  a  frown. 

Rory  winced.  "I  have  seen  the  world,  madam.  But  I'm 
not  too  old  to  be  convinced.  Perchance  if  the  sun  sent 
rays  to  enlighten  me,  I  might  yet  learn  to  blow  my  bubble 
as  blithely  as  the  rest." 

Dorothy  laughed  softly.  "The  sun,  Mr.  Winnington, 
must  spread  his  rays,  not  devote  all  to  the  lighting  of  one 
path,  however  dark  it  be.  But  we  grow  serious,  sir,  a  crime 
of  which  you  are  not  often  guilty.  Let  us  go  in.  There  is 
the  music  of  the  country  dance." 

Timothy  wandered  through  the  rooms,  doing  his  duty  as 
host.  He  found  much  matter  for  amusement  in  thus  courte- 
ously entertaining  men  who  were  seeking  by  every  means  in 
their  power  to  entrap  him  to  a  prison.  He  passed  on,  and 
in  the  last  room,  in  a  retired  alcove,  he  discovered  Celia  and 
Sir  Peter  Pemberton. 

A  sudden  madness  seized  him,  a  bitter  jealousy  that  all 
others  should  have  the  right  to  woo  her  and  he  must  stand 
aside  and  watch  her  won.  He  would  not  endure  it  without 
one  more  plea.  He  hurried  back  through  the  crowded 
rooms  until  he  discovered  Lucy  de  Putren. 

"Madam,"  he  pleaded,  "will  you  be  pitiful  and  give  your 
aid  to  a  man  most  intolerably  abused?" 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Curtis?"  she  asked  good-humouredly. 
Lucy  de  Putren  had  a  tender  place  in  her  heart  for  Tim 
Curtis. 

"Sir  Peter  Pemberton  at  present  monopolises  Miss  Win- 
nington." 

She  eyed  him  sharply.  "You  would  speak  with  her  alone? 
But  can  you  deem  Celia  wished  it,  Mr.  Curtis?" 

He  winced.     "Give  me  but  the  opportunity  to  learn  her 


THE  LURE  207 

will,"  he  pleaded.  "If  she  does  not  wish  my  company  she 
has  but  to  say  so." 

Lucy  nodded.  "True.  Celia,  methinks,  can  speak  her 
mind  on  occasion  as  plainly  as  most  women.  If  you  are 
resolved  to  risk  another — rebuff,  you  shall  have  the  oc- 
casion." 

She  suffered  him  to  lead  her  back  to  the  distant  room 
where  Celia  and  Sir  Peter  were  chattering  gaily,  and  to- 
gether they  penetrated  into  the  alcove  and  stood  before  the 
absorbed  couple. 

"Sir  Peter,  I  am  here  to  beg  a  boon,"  began  Lucy  de 
Putren  brightly. 

"A  boon,  madam?"  cried  Peter,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"You  swore  you  would  show  me  the  new  Dutch  step  in 
the  country  dance.  The  music  is  but  now  beginning;  will 
you  not  keep  your  word?" 

"Willingly,  madam,"  answered  Peter  with  some  embarrass- 
ment, "if  Miss  Winnington  will  pardon  my  desertion." 

"I  will  come  and  watch  you,"  said  Celia,  rising,  "and  take 
my  lesson,  too,  in  terpsichorean  wiles." 

"Do,"  said  Lucy  quickly.  "Mr.  Curtis  will  conduct  you. 
Come,  Sir  Peter,  or  we  shall  lose  our  places." 

Laughing  mischievously  to  herself  at  her  unseemly  haste, 
she  gave  her  hand  to  Peter  and  almost  dragged  him  from 
the  room,  leaving  Celia  staring  after  them  in  amazement. 

When  they  had  disappeared  Celia  turned  stiffly  to  Timothy. 

"Will  you  take  me  to  the  ball  room,  sir?"  she  asked  coldly. 

He  did  not  move.  "If  you  command  it,  madam,  I  must. 
But  do  not  so  command.  Stay  here  but  a  little  and  let  me 
speak  to  you." 

Celia  seated  herself  stiffly.  "What  have  you  to  say?"  she 
asked  sharply.  Her  face  was  cold,  unmoved,  but  her  hands 


208  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

trembled,  and  her  white  fingers  twisted  themselves  nervously 
together.  He  noted  this  and  took  courage. 

"Mistress  Celia,"  he  pleaded,  "I  have  a  boon  to  ask." 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  coldly. 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  smile.  "Nay,  madam,  how  can 
I  speak  to  one  so  cold  and  distant?  In  older  days  when 
subjects  would  approach  their  sovereigns  to  urge  a  plea, 
they  awaited  a  sign  permitting  audience.  Without  that 
sign  I  dare  not  speak.  Will  you  not  lower  the  sceptre  of 
your  disdain  and  let  me  draw  nearer  your  throne?" 

For  a  moment  Celia  hesitated,  then,  as  though  almost 
against  her  will,  she  drew  in  her  skirts  and  made  place  for 
him  on  the  seat  at  her  side. 

"I  will  listen  to  your  plea,"  she  said  quietly. 

He  did  not  seat  himself  beside  her,  but  stood  leaning 
against  the  wall  opposite,  looking  down  at  her  bent  head. 
"Mistress  Celia,  it  is  but  a  plea  for  a  place,  however  small, 
in  your  thoughts.  A  plea,  dear  Moon,  that  when  you  sail 
the  heavens  in  your  glory  with  all  the  planets  in  your  train, 
and  gladden  all  men  with  your  beauty,  you  will  remember 
there  is  one  man  upon  the  earth  whose  nights  are  always 
dark." 

"Are  they  so  dark?"  she  asked  quickly,  and  there  was 
jealousy  in  her  tone. 

He  met  her  eyes  and  smiled.  "So  dark,  madam,  that  he 
has  not  even  eyes  to  see  what  other  men  hold  fair." 

"But  what  is  the  boon  you  ask?"  she  muttered  hurriedly. 

"Only  remembrance,  madam.  When  others  draw  near  to 
your  side,  touch  your  hand,  tell  of  their  love,  ah !  Mistress 
Celia,  remember  there  is  one  who  loves  you  more  than  all 
the  world  loves  you — not  for  your  beauty,  not  for  your 
brilliance,  not  because  you  are  the  toast  of  Bath,  but  be- 


THE  LURE  209 

cause  he  has  looked  into  your  soul  and  read  its  purity. 
Others  may  look  in  your  eyes,  but  he  must  turn  away ; 
others  may  speak  their  homage,  but  he  must  keep  silent. 
All  the  day  and  all  the  night  his  thoughts  are  yours, 
madam ;  will  you  not  give  him  in  return  the  little  boon  he 
asks?  Will  you  not  remember?" 

She  lifted  to  him  eyes  dark  with  tears. 

"Remember — '  she  whispered  softly,  "ah !  I  strive  day 
and  night  to  forget — but,  Heaven  pity  me — I  cannot." 

"Would  you  forget,  Mistress  Celia?"  he  asked;  and  he 
stooped  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

She  looked  up  with  a  pathetic  little  smile  of  helplessness. 
"No,"  she  said  slowly,  "I  would  not.  Spy  though  you  be, 
dishonoured  though  you  be,  I  think  you  love  me,  and  surely 
love,  if  it  be  honest,  can  never  bring  shame.  I  cannot  love 
you,  I  cannot  trust  you " 

"I  ask  neither,  madam — as  yet.  Only  that  you  will  re- 
member." 

Tracy  appeared  round  the  end  of  the  screen  in  front  of 
the  alcove. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said  shortly,  "Lord  Westerby  seeks  you." 

Timothy  rose.  He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  bow- 
ing quietly  to  Tracy,  walked  out  of  the  room. 

Celia  turned  to  her  brother-in-law  and  laid  her  hands  on 
his  arm. 

"Tracy,"  she  said  earnestly,  "tell  me  here  and  now  on  what 
foundation  rests  your  proof  against  Mr.  Curtis." 

He  looked  down  at  her  pityingly.  "Celia,  has  it  come  to 
that?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded.  "I  must  know  all,  Tracy.  You  say  he  stole 
the  papers  from  Laidie.  How  did  he  get  them?" 

"By  bribing  Martha." 


210  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Has  she  confessed  to  it?" 

"She  has  disappeared.  We  can  find  no  trace  of  her.  But 
we  have  other,  stronger  proofs,  Celia." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  will  not  believe  it,  Tracy.  No 
man  could  look  so,  speak  so,  and  have  a  soul  so  black." 

"You  don't  know  men,  dear.  Words  come  easily,  espe- 
cially when  love-inspired.  And  I  do  not  doubt  that  he  loves 
you." 

"How  could  he  love  and  deceive  ?" 

"Love  has  driven  men  to  dishonour  before  this,  Celia." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears.  "Tracy,"  she  cried, 
"give  me  but  proofs  that  I  may  know  him  innocent  or 
guilty,  and  love  him  or  put  him  out  of  my  heart  forever." 

"Proofs?     What  more  proofs  do  you  need?" 

"I  do  not  know.  Find  Martha;  let  us  learn  her  story. 
Bring  him  face  to  face  with  her  and  I  will  believe.  Ah! 
Tracy,  do  this  for  me,  and  do  not  be  angry  with  me  that  I 
still  distrust." 

"I  will,  Celia.  We'll  scour  the  kingdom  for  the  girl  and 
force  her  to  the  truth.  Will  that  satisfy  you  ?" 

She  gave  him  her  hand  gratefully  and  they  went  back  to 
rejoin  the  dancers.  Tracy  thought  of  the  note  of  warn- 
ing to  Timothy  in  his  pocket,  but  he  forbore  to  tax  her  with 
it. 

"Poor  child,"  he  muttered.  "She  has  enough  to  bear  now. 
She  is  breaking  her  heart  for  Timothy  Curtis,  who's  not 
worthy  to  touch  her  hand.  Truly  there's  matter  for  mar- 
vel in  the  doings  of  Providence — and  a  woman's  heart." 


CHAPTER  XV 

BEHIND    THE    BROWN    DOOR 

THE  following  morning  Timothy  Curtis  commenced  his 
search  for  Martha  Williams,  Lady  Wimbourne's  maid.  He 
consulted  his  landlady,  Mrs.  Buzzard,  about  all  possible 
lodgings  the  girl  might  have  occupied,  and  visited  them 
with  inquiries.  He  despatched  Simon  to  draw  the  likely 
covers  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Cock  Alley  where  he  had 
seen  her  the  week  before.  He  inquired  at  the  coach  office 
and  sought  council  of  the  watch,  but  with  no  result.  He 
could  find  no  trace  of  her  whereabouts,  though  he  sought 
her  eagerly  for  the  space  of  two  days.  He  would  have 
employed  the  town  crier,  but  feared  to  scare  her  into  closer 
hiding. 

But  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  light  dawned.  On 
returning  to  his  rooms  after  an  unavailing  search  through 
the  lower  part  of  the  town,  he  found  awaiting  him  a  note 
from  Adelaide  Wimbourne.  He  recognised  the  seal  and 
paper  at  once,  and  opened  it  eagerly. 

"I  learn  from  my  cook-maid,  that  Martha  Williams  is  to 
be  heard  of  at  the  house  of  one  Madame  Grieve,  a  coiffeuse. 
A.  W." 

That  was  all ;  it  was  curt  indeed,  in  its  brevity,  but  it  suf- 
ficed for  Timothy.  He  picked  up  his  hat  and  hurried  down 
into  the  street,  round  to  the  house  in  Peter's  Wynd.  His 
suspicions  concerning  the  character  of  the  house  were  con- 
firmed ;  he  marvelled  that  he  had  not  thought  earlier  of  in- 
quiring there. 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

An  elderly  Frenchwoman  answered  his  summons  at  the 
door.  She  seemed  puzzled  at  his  appearance  there,  and  as 
she  spoke  English  with  an  execrable  accent,  and  understood 
but  little  of  what  he  said,  it  was  some  time  before  he  could 
make  clear  to  her  the  object  of  his  inquiries. 

When  at  length  she  understood,  she  proved  incapable  of 
assisting  him. 

It  was  true,  she  said,  many  young  girls  came  to  the  house ; 
the  one  he  nought  might  be  among  them.  Assuredly, 
Madame  Grieve  would  know. 

"May  I  speak  to  madame,  then?"  asked  Tim,  eager  to 
force  an  entry. 

The  woman  looked  horrified.  "Mais,  monsieur!"  she 
cried;  "monsieur  ne  doit  pas  entrer.  Gentlemen — zey  do 
not  come  in.  Ze  ladies — it  is  not  conformable,  vous  com- 
prenez  ?  Ze  house  is  for  ze  coiffure." 

"Then  ask  Madame  Grieve  to  do  me  the  honour  to  speak 
with  me  here,"  he  asked  impatiently. 

The  woman  shut  the  door  on  him  and  went  away.  Tim- 
othy waited  impatiently.  Presently  the  door  was  reopened, 
and  Madame  Grieve  herself  appeared  upon  the  step. 

"Your  pardon,  madame,"  said  Tim  gallantly,  "I  fear  I 
have  disturbed  you.  I  am  in  search  of  a  girl  named  Martha 
Williams,  and  was  directed  to  inquire  for  her  here." 

Madame  Grieve  eyed  him  curiously  with  her  bright,  black 
eyes. 

"To  be  sure,  monsieur,  I  know  the  girl,  but  she  is  not  here 
now,"  she  said,  smiling.  "I  am  sorry  for  monsieur's  disap- 
pointment." 

"Can  you  not  tell  me  where  she  lodges  ?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

Madame  Grieve  shook  her  head.  "I  am  desolee,  mon- 
sieur, I  do  not  know,  but  I  will  inquire.  Only — for  the 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR 

moment  I  am  engaged.  Monsieur  will  doubtless  under- 
stand. I  cannot  keep  a  lady  waiting  in  the  middle  of  the 
coiffure.  Will  monsieur  call  again?" 

"Willingly,  madame.  I  am  monstrously  grateful  to  you 
for  your  kindness.  At  what  hour  shall  I  call?" 

She  hesitated.  "At  six  o'clock  I  go  to  my  supper.  I  will 
make  inquiries  then.  If  monsieur  will  call  here  about  nine 
o'clock  I  will  have  the  girl  to  receive  him,  or  at  least  news 
of  her." 

"But,  madame,  I  fear  I  put  you  to  trouble,"  said  Tim. 
"Can  not  you  tell  me  where  to  find  the  girl  myself?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  would  not  find  her,  monsieur," 
she  laughed.  "But  come  here  at  nine  to-night  and  you  shall 
see  her.  You  will  excuse  me,  monsieur,  I  cannot  keep  my 
customer  waiting  longer.  Au  revoir." 

She  shut  the  door  in  his  face  and  Timothy  returned  to  his 
rooms  in  no  very  satisfied  frame  of  mind.  His  hand  was  al- 
most on  his  quarry,  but  he  was  nervous ;  he  had  no  proof 
that  the  house  had  any  connection  with  the  Jacobite  con- 
spirators. Indeed,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  held  proof  to  the 
contrary.  But  Josiah's  assurance  troubled  his  memory. 
He  liked  neither  the  house  nor  the  hour  fixed  for  the  meet- 
ing. 

He  dined  alone  at  the  open  window,  watching  the  door  op- 
posite and  the  roof  alternately.  The  blind  walls  stared 
back  at  him  blankly ;  what  secret  did  they  hide  behind  their 
stones?  He  thought,  with  a  shiver,  if  his  enemies  wished 
to  trap  him  they  were  never  likely  to  have  a  better  oppor- 
tunity than  that  night  in  the  lonely  house.  Surely  he  was 
a  fool  to  give  a  chance  to  men  who  would  lose  no  chances. 

He  sat  down  to  write  a  note  to  Madame  Grieve,  repudiat- 
ing the  engagement,  and  bidding  the  girl  wait  upon  him 


214  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

elsewhere ;  but  shame  at  his  timidity  stopped  him.  If  he  die. 
not  meet  the  girl  to-night,  he  would  probably  lose  her;  it 
was  not  likely  that  she  would  willingly  put  herself  in  the 
power  of  the  man  she  had  slandered  if  she  were  aware  of  his 
identity,  and  he  could  not  expect  Madame  Grieve  to  trouble 
herself  to  arrange  another  interview.  To  find  the  girl  was 
his  first  step  toward  clearing  his  reputation,  and  should  he 
shrink  from  risk  in  the  search,  he  deserved  to  lose  her  al- 
together. 

He  was  ashamed  of  his  cowardice.  He  put  on  his  wide- 
brimmed  hat  and  long  coat,  and  buckling  on  his  sword  sat 
down  again  at  the  window  to  await  the  appointed  hour. 

The  blind  walls  frowned  across  at  him.  He  began  to  recall 
stories  of  silent  murders  behind  such  dark  stone  walls,  of 
men  secretly  done  to  death  in  corners  of  deserted  houses. 
He  grew  afraid  and  angry  at  his  fears.  He  rose  once,  and 
priming  a  pistol  slipped  it  into  his  pocket.  He  considered 
the  advisability  of  taking  Simon  with  him,  but  dismissed  it 
contemptuously. 

"Pish !"  he  muttered  angrily,  "I've  no  more  nerve  than  a 
boggart-scared  plough-boy.  What  should  harm  me?  I'm 
in  Bath,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  not  in  Venice  under  the 
Ten.  I'm  armed.  What  the  plague  should  make  me  so 
demmed  jumpy?" 

He  pulled  out  his  pistol  defiantly,  and  threw  it  on  the 
table,  and  so,  alternating  between  bravado  and  fear,  he 
waited  for  the  hour  to  come. 

At  last,  about  a  quarter  to  nine,  he  heard  steps  in  the 
passage  below  and  looking  out  saw  Madame  Grieve,  fol- 
lowed by  a  woman  heavily  shawled.  They  opened  the  brown 
door  and  entered  the  house  opposite.  With  a  final  laugh 
at  his  fears,  he  rose  to  follow  her. 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR  215 

At  the  door  he  paused,  and  drew  from  his  inner  pocket  the 
bracelet  Celia  had  given  him. 

"I'll  not  take  this,"  he  muttered,  "into  such  a  place.  Who 
knows  with  what  wooing  I  must  win  the  girl?  I'll  not  take 
this." 

He  locked  it  in  his  bureau,  and  bidding  Simon  wait  up  for 
his  return,  passed  out  into  the  darkening  street. 

Peter's  Wynd  was  almost  in  darkness.  He  paused  for  a 
moment  with  his  hand  on  the  knocker  of  the  brown  door 
and  looked  back  at  his  open  window  opposite. 

"The  mouse  is  nibbling,"  he  muttered  whimsically,  "will 
the  trap  close?" 

Then  he  laughed  again  at  his  nervousness  and  lifted  the 
knocker. 

The  door  was  opened  a  little  way  and  Madame  Grieve 
peered  round  the  chink.  "Is  that  you,  monsieur?"  she  asked 
softly.  "The  girl  is  here." 

She  opened  the  door  a  little  wider  and  Timothy  crossed 
the  threshold.  The  door  shut  behind  him  with  a  bang,  and 
he  found  himself  in  darkness. 

Timothy  stood  still,  with  his  hand  on  his  half-drawn 
sword.  He  had  a  queer,  uncanny  feeling  that  eyes  were 
peering  at  him  through  the  darkness,  and  figures  stealing 
past  him. 

"Have  you  no  light?"  he  asked  irritably,  and  he  stepped 
back  and  felt  for  the  latch  of  the  door. 

"This  way,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Grieve,  taking  his 
hand.  "Let  me  direct  you.  The  draught  has  blown  out 
the  candle." 

Timothy  stumbled  forward  a  few  steps  and  then  stopped 
dead.  He  felt  a  sharp  prick  at  his  throat,  and  putting  up 
his  hand  touched  cold  steel.  At  the  same  moment,  a  door 


216  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

at  the  end  of  the  hall  was  opened  and  the  place  was  flooded 
with  light. 

The  hall  was  full  of  men  surrounding  him.  In  front 
stood  Marcus  Ormonde  with  raised  blade,  smiling  into  his 
eyes. 

"Caught  at  last,  Mr.  Curtis!"  he  said.  "Faith,  you  are 
an  easy  man  to  gull." 

"Damnation !"  cried  Tim  savagely.  He  turned  and  bowed 
elaborately  to  Madame  Grieve.  "Your  pardon,  madame ;  one 
does  not  expect  the  presence  of  ladies  on  such  an  occasion." 

The  little  Frenchwoman  clapped  her  hands.  "Ah !  mon- 
sieur is  still  gallant.  Ah,  ha !  Monsieur,  bright  eyes  lead 
men  far  astray.  Bon  soir.  I  leave  you  to — your  swears." 

She  dropped  him  a  curtsey  and  disappeared  up  the  stair- 
way. 

"And  now  to  business,"  said  Ormonde  shortly.  "You'll 
understand,  Curtis,  the  slightest  noise  on  your  part  will  be 
— er — effectually  silenced.  Take  his  sword  and  tie  his 
hands,  Lee.  He  sha'n't  slip  us  again." 

"Is  it  to  be  Paris  then?"  asked  Tim,  with  a  resigned 
shrug. 

"No,  Mr.  Curtis,  a  longer  journey,"  answered  Lee  grimly. 

Timothy's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  fear ;  with  a  sudden  effort 
he  threw  off  his  captors  and  sprang  toward  the  door.  A 
dozen  hands  seized  him.  He  was  overpowered  in  a  moment. 
His  hands  were  tied  and  he  was  dragged  up  the  stairs. 

Rory  met  them  on  the  landing.  He  shook  his  head  re- 
proachfully at  Tim. 

"That  demmed  inquisitive  nose  of  yours,  Tim !  I  knew  it 
would  lead  you  astray  some  day.  But  I  never  dreamed 
you'd  be  so  bedad  easily  gulled." 

In  the  large  upper  room  Lord  Robert  Dacre  sat  talking 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR  217 

with  three  or  four  of  the  Jacobites.  Tracy  was  not  present. 
They  looked  up  at  Tim's  entrance  and  smiled. 

"Trapped,  eh,  Mr.  Curtis?"  said  Lord  Robert.  "A  trifle 
too  trusting  this  time,  it  seems.  Has  the  ass  forgotten 
the  taste  o'  the  whip?" 

"What  d'ye  want  with  me?"  asked  Tim  sullenly.  "I've 
told  you  I'm  innocent  of  any  interference  with  your  affairs. 
I  can't  do  more  than  give  you  my  word." 

"That  is  unfortunate,"  sneered  Lord  Stavely,  "the  word 
of  a  spy  being  of  no  great  value." 

"I'm  no  spy,"  cried  Tim  angrily,  "I  have  told  you  so  a 
dozen  times.  I  fail  to  understand  what  reason  you  have 
for  believing  it." 

"Lord  Pelham  has  told  Sir  Thomas  Winnington  that  you 
are  in  his  pay  to  watch  the  Jacobites,"  said  Lord  Robert 
shortly. 

Tim  stared  aghast.  "Pelham  said  that?"  he  gasped. 
"Egad!  I  knew  he  was  a  blackguard,  but  he  takes  a 
mighty  strong  revenge  for  being  told  so." 

Lord  Robert  rose  impatiently.  "Search  him,"  he  said 
shortly.  Tim  sullenly  submitted  to  the  inevitable ;  he  knew 
they  would  find  nothing. 

Roger  Lee  and  Lord  Stavely  subjected  him  to  a  careful 
search  while  the  others  watched. 

"No ;  he  has  not  the  papers  on  him,"  said  Stavely  at  last. 
"Where  the  plague  does  he  hide  them?" 

Lord  Robert  crossed  to  Timothy  and  faced  him  menac- 
ingly. 

"Now,  Curtis,"  he  said  sharply,  "we're  not  playing  a 
game  with  you.  Where  are  those  papers?" 

"I  haven't  got  them,"  said  Tim  irritably. 

"Have  you  already  sold  them?" 


218  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"No." 

"Then  where  are  they?" 

"How  the  devil  should  I  know?" 

Lord  Robert  turned  away  with  a  muttered  oath  of  impa- 
tience. He  drew  two  or  three  of  the  men  apart  and  they 
talked  in  low  voices.  Tim  grew  hot  and  cold  by  turns. 
His  hands  were  damp  and  clammy  and  his  heart  beat 
quickly.  He  turned  his  eyes  from  side  to  side  in  search  of  a 
possible  way  of  escape,  of  one  friendly  face  among  the 
crowd. 

Presently  Lord  Robert  came  back  to  his  side. 

"You  do  not  appear  to  understand,  Mr.  Curtis,  that  this 
is  a  case  of  our  necks  or  yours.  You  won't  tell  us  where 
these  papers  are?" 

"I  can  tell  you  nothing  about  them,"  snapped  Tim 
angrily. 

"Then  you  must  take  the  consequences." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to  me?"  he  asked  indifferently. 

"The  most  popular  suggestion  is  to  hang  you  out  of 
hand,"  answered  Lord  Robert  coolly. 

"Hang  me!  Nonsense!  I  tell  you  I  have  done  you  no 
injury." 

"We  don't  believe  you." 

"Then  you're  demmed  ungentlemanly,"  shouted  Tim 
savagely.  "Hang  me !  Give  me  a  sword  and  I'll  fight  any 
two  of  you  left-handed." 

Lord  Robert  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "This  is  no  tav- 
ern brawl.  You  are  judged  and  condemned.  And  you  will 
be  so  good  as  to  moderate  your  tones,  Mr.  Curtis,  or  we 
shall  be  put  to  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  running  you 
through  on  the  spot." 

For  a  moment  Tim  stood  silent,  facing  the  FOW  of  resolute 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR  219 

faces ;  then  pride  conquered  his  fears.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders  indifferently  and  smiled  at  them  defiantly. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  coolly,  "hang  me,  if  you  will.  'Tis 
a  demmed  ungentlemanly  way  of  kicking  off  this  planet, 
but  it  seems  I've  wandered  into  Bedlam,  so  I  must  take  the 
consequences.  Give  me  a  few  minutes  to  prepare  myself 
and  I'm  ready  for  my  last  dance." 

Rory  sat  on  the  table  swinging  his  legs  and  watching  Tim 
critically.  He  drew  out  his  pipe  and  lighted  it. 

"The  man  is  innocent,  Bob,"  he  said.  "I'd  go  surety  for 
it  anywhere." 

David  Beringer  looked  round  at  him  eagerly.  "How  do 
you  know?"  he  asked  quickly.  "Have  you  any  proof?" 

"No,"  said  Rory  cheerfully,  "I've  no  proof.  But  he 
couldn't  be  a  spy,  he's  such  a  demmed  fool." 

Lord  Robert  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Is  that  all  you 
have  to  urge  ?"  he  asked  contemptuously. 

"No,"  said  Rory,  puffing  at  his  pipe.  "Give  him  another 
chance  now  you've  shown  him  the  halter.  If  he  will  tell 
where  the  papers  are  now,  prove  him  a  knave  and  let  him 
go  free ;  but  if  he  will  rather  hang,  why  prove  him  a  fool 
and  hang  him." 

Lord  Robert  turned  to  Tim.  "You  hear  him,  Curtis.  The 
noose  is  round  your  neck.  Tell  us  where  to  find  those  pa- 
pers and  we  cut  the  rope." 

A  drowning  man  will  clutch  at  a  straw,  and  a  man  with 
his  foot  on  the  scaffold  steps  will  stumble  to  make  time. 
Every  moment  was  precious  when  so  few  remained,  every 
chance  of  delay  held  hope.  Tim's  wits  worked  quickly. 
He  could  gain  a  few  minutes  by  sending  some  of  the  men 
on  a  wild-goose  chase  to  his  rooms,  and  when  they  returned, 
even  if  no  help  intervened,  his  position  would  be  no  worse. 


220  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

He  assumed  a  sulky  air  and  gave  in  with  well-simulated 
reluctance.  "Go  to  my  rooms  and  get  them  then,"  he  said 
sullenly. 

"Where  shall  we  find  them?" 

"In  a  square  tin  box  hidden  behind  my  bed,"  he  said 
slowly,  "there  you'll  find  all  the  treasonable  correspondence 
I  possess.  My  man  knows  which  it  is." 

Lord  Robert  eyed  him  suspiciously.  "He  is  tricking  us, 
I  believe,  Marcus,"  he  said. 

"What  matter?"  answered  Ormonde  shortly.  "We  have  him 
safe  here.  Stavely  and  I  will  go  over  to  his  lodging  and 
search." 

"You  will  want  a  line  in  his  hand  to  his  man  to  let  you 
in,"  suggested  Lee. 

"Mr.  Curtis  will  supply  it,"  said  Lord  Robert ;  "loose  his 
right  hand,  Lee." 

Paper  and  inkhorn  were  on  the  table.  Tim  picked  up  the 
quill  and  scrawled  a  line  to  Simon: 

"Rouse  the  town  and  tell  Lord  Westerby  I'm  held  prisoner 
by  Jacobites  in  the  house  of  Madame  Grieve." 

He  folded  the  paper  and  tossed  it  to  Ormonde.  It  was 
a  desperate  chance  and  it  failed.  Ormonde  slowly  unfolded 
and  read  the  slip.  He  looked  across  at  Tim  and  smiled  re- 
proachfully. 

"Really,  Mr.  Curtis,"  he  said,  "you  underrate  our  intelli- 
gence." 

Tim  laughed  grimly.  "I  apologise,  gentlemen;  'twas  a 
slender  hope,  but  any  log  in  a  shipwreck." 

He  rewrote  the  note  under  dictation,  and  the  two  men  pre- 
pared to  depart.  Rory  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  go  surety,  Bob,  the  man  is  innocent ;  therefore  it's  not 
to  be  doubted  he'll  hang;  but  I  tell  you  plainly  I've  no 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR 

stomach  for  the  work,  so  I'll  leave  you  to  it.  Good-bye, 
Tim.  Commend  me  to  Diogenes  if  you  meet  him  on  the 
further  side  Styx."  He  strolled  to  the  door  and  then 
paused,  but  did  not  turn  his  head.  "If  you  are  bent  on 
hanging,  demme!  do  it  in  a  gentlemanly  fashion.  Let  the 
poor  beggar  have  a  few  minutes  to  himself  first." 

He  went  out,  followed  by  Stavely  and  Ormonde. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Tim  stood  staring  at  the 
floor,  desperately  racking  his  brains  for  another  expedient 
to  try,  when  the  searchers  returned  empty-handed.  The 
men  shifted  their  positions  in  embarrassed  restlessness. 

Oliver  Shirley  leaned  over  to  Lord  Robert. 

"Gag  him  and  put  him  in  the  next  room,  Bob,"  he  urged. 
"And  let  us  get  on  with  the  business.  We'll  be  here  all 
night." 

"As  you  please,"  said  Lord  Robert  indifferently. 

Lee  produced  a  scarf,  and  wound  it  round  Timothy's 
mouth.  The  latter  raised  no  objection,  it  was  of  small 
moment  to  him  what  they  did.  Lord  Robert  tested  the 
cords  that  bound  his  wrists,  and  opening  a  door  at  the  end 
of  the  room  motioned  to  him  to  pass  through.  Tim  strolled 
through  into  the  inner  room  and  the  door  was  shut  upon 
him. 

Directly  he  heard  the  latch  fall  he  threw  up  his  head 
and  looked  round  eagerly,  then  his  face  fell.  He  was  in  a 
perfectly  empty  room  lighted  by  a  small  hanging  lamp. 
Four  white  walls  closed  him  in,  offering  no  hope  of  escape. 
The  only  door  was  the  one  by  which  he  had  entered ;  the  only 
window,  set  high  in  the  wall,  looked  sheer  down  into  Boat- 
Stall  Lane,  a  drop  of  fifty  feet  on  to  the  hard  cobbled  road 
below. 

The  lattice  was  slightly  open ;  he  peered  out  eagerly  but 


222  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

could  see  little  in  the  gathering  darkness.  The  window 
was  in  a  small  gable;  on  either  side  the  high  roof  sloped 
steeply  up  a  height  of  eight  feet  to  the  ridge  of  the  tiles ; 
there  was  not  so  much  as  a  pipe  or  a  gutter  to  offer  foothold 
on  the  smooth  surface  of  roof  or  wall ;  even  were  his  hands 
unfettered,  escape  that  way  was  clearly  impossible. 

He  next  tried  to  bite  through  his  gag  that  he  might  shout 
from  the  window  in  the  vain  hope  of  attracting  attention 
from  the  neighbouring  houses ;  but  he  only  succeeded  in 
half  choking  himself — Lee  had  done  his  work  too  well.  He 
stared  once  more  desperately  round  the  bare  room  and  then 
recognising  the  futility  of  further  effort  he  gave  up  the 
struggle  and  leaning  against  the  wall  opposite  the  darken- 
ing window  resigned  himself  to  his  fate. 

He  stood  face  to  face  with  death.  His  mind  groped  into 
the  mists  of  that  undiscovered  country  with  the  awed  won- 
der of  humanity  contemplating  eternal  mysteries.  But  he 
had  a  simple  faith  in  his  Maker  and  conscious  that  he  had 
held  his  honour  untainted,  he  did  not  fear  to  ask  mercy  for 
his  many  sins.  He  looked  back  over  his  life  with  a  blush 
for  the  darker  passages,  with  a  sigh  of  regret  for  wasted 
hours.  He  thought  of  his  friendship  for  Tracy  Wim- 
bourne,  that  friendship  so  suddenly,  so  unaccountably 
snapped.  He  felt  no  emotions  of  anger  toward  him ;  had  he 
been  in  Tracy's  place,  he  believed  that  he  would  have  acted 
in  the  same  way.  But  he  was  glad  that  his  friend  had  not 
been  present  that  evening.  It  pleased  him  to  think  that 
Tracy  would  have  no  hand  in  his  death. 

He  raged  at  the  credulity  that  had  led  him  to  be  so  easily 
trapped,  and  he  thought  with  a  puzzled  wonder  of  the  share 
Adelaide  Wimbourne  had  taken  in  his  undoing.  But  he 
would  not  dwell  on  it;  the  edge  of  the  grave  is  no  place 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR  223 

to  harbour  revengeful  thoughts,  least  of  all  against  a 
woman. 

Then  he  let  his  thoughts  wander  to  Celia.  What  would 
she  think,  he  wondered,  when  she  saw  him  no  more  ?  Would 
she  question  her  brother,  and  learning  the  truth,  weep  a 
little  over  his  fate  ?  Or  would  she  deem  he  had  but  met  the 
punishment  he  deserved  and  remember  him  only  in  her 
dreams?  He  could  never  now  convince  her  of  his  honesty. 
His  bitterest  thought  was  this,  that  he  must  die  still  un- 
justified in  her  sight,  must  go  out  into  the  darkness,  leav- 
ing her  to  believe  his  love  only  a  shameful  hypocrisy.  He 
would  fain  have  spared  her  that ;  fain  have  left  her  a  re- 
membrance scented  with  sweet  rosemary,  not  with  such  bit- 
ter rue.  He  had  no  shadow  in  his  heart  for  her  want  of 
trust  in  him ;  it  would  have  been  unworthy  of  her  had  she 
given  her  love  to  one  whose  honour  was  tainted. 

A  bitter  sigh  escaped  his  lips ;  the  thought  of  Celia  made 
life  very  sweet  in  his  eyes.  She  was  so  warm,  so  tender,  so 
utterly  desirable,  and  the  darkness  before  him  was  so  cold, 
so  blank. 

He  lifted  his  head  once  more,  and  looked  round  the  room 
in  a  last  desperate  search  for  escape,  but  no  hope  offered. 
He  stared  blankly  across  at  the  darkening  window,  and  then 
stood  suddenly  rigid  with  a  startled  intake  of  his  breath. 
For  even  as  he  looked  something  darkened  the  pallid  light 
of  the  window ;  he  saw  a  man's  leg  swing  past  the  pane  and 
disappear. 

With  two  strides  he  was  across  the  room,  staring  out  into 
the  darkness.  He  could  see  nothing,  and  had  almost  per- 
suaded himself  that  he  had  been  mistaken  when  again  the 
leg  appeared.  It  was  a  shapely  leg,  cased  in  elegant  blue 
silk  stockings  with  silver  clocks ;  the  shoes  were  diamond- 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

buckled ;  the  knee-breeches  gartered  with  pearl-embroidered 
straps.  It  swung  down  across  the  window  for  all  the  world 
as  though  suspended  from  the  clouds. 

Timothy  gaped  at  it  in  blank  astonishment.  Was  some 
man,  madman  it  would  seem,  sitting  astride  on  the  gable, 
swinging  his  legs  over  that  hideous  drop  into  the  darkness 
below?  If  so,  by  what  magic  had  he  reached  such  a  posi- 
tion? 

Timothy's  heart  beat  high  with  hope  and  excitement ;  where 
one  man  could  come  surely  another  could  go.  He  strained 
vainly  at  his  bonds  in  a  desperate  effort  to  be  free  that  he 
might  open  wider  the  lattice  and  lean  out  to  his  visitor. 

Slowly,  tentatively,  as  though  doubting  the  possibility  of 
the  undertaking,  the  leg  swung  lower  till  the  diamond 
buckles  were  on  a  level  with  the  bottom  of  the  window.  At 
the  top  of  the  window  pane  appeared  an  arm  and  shoulder 
clad  in  pale-green  satin.  The  man  was  evidently  hanging 
on  to  the  point  of  the  gable  with  his  hands  and  right  knee, 
while  his  left  foot  swung  loose  into  the  darkness,  groping 
for  a  resting-place.  There  was  no  sill  outside  the  window, 
not  so  much  as  a  jagged  stone  to  give  foothold.  The  man 
inserted  his  toe  in  the  crack  of  the  open  lattice,  and  felt 
along  the  opening  for  the  latch. 

Tim  struggled  madly  with  his  cords ;  were  he  but  free  to 
open  the  window,  the  man's  attempt  might  be  successful. 
The  foot  groped  blindly  along  the  crevice  and  its  example 
inspired  him ;  he  lifted  his  own  foot  and  kicked  at  the  latch. 
It  gave  way ;  but  he  could  not  push  open  the  window  while 
the  leg  was  before  it. 

There  was  a  soft  scrambling  sound  on  the  roof,  evidently 
the  man  was  trying  to  regain  his  seat  astride  the  gable; 
twice  the  leg  swung  up  and  slipped  down  again,  dangling 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR  225 

helplessly  over  the  dark  abyss.  There  was  the  sound  of 
rending  cloth  and  then  a  low,  amused,  but  somewhat  breath- 
less chuckle. 

At  last,  with  the  third  effort,  the  climber  succeeded  in 
regaining  his  equilibrium ;  he  swung  his  leg  clear  of  the  win- 
dow and  Timothy  pushed  it  open  with  his  head  and  peered 
up.  He  could  see  nothing;  the  man  was  sitting  just  above 
him ;  he  drew  in  his  head  and  waited. 

There  was  a  pause.  Evidently  his  rescuer  was  taking  a 
much-needed  breath.  Then  the  soft  scrambling  on  the  roof 
began  again.  Slowly,  cautiously,  the  man  lowered  himself 
down  from  the  gable,  his  legs  swinging  over  the  abyss  till 
they  touched  the  sill ;  he  grasped  the  window  with  one  hand 
and  swayed  outwards  for  a  moment  as  he  let  go  his  hold 
on  the  roof;  then  he  gave  a  little  jump  forward  and  landed 
safely,  sitting  on  the  window  sill,  his  feet  hanging  down 
into  the  room. 

It  was  Rory  Winnington !  His  fair  hair  shone  in  the 
pale  light  from  the  lamp.  He  looked  across  at  Tim  with  a 
smile  of  satisfied  achievement,  and  dusted  his  hands  daintily 
with  his  lace  handkerchief. 

"Egad!"  he  whispered,  "the  plaguiest  risky  job  I've  ever 
undertaken." 

He  slipped  silently  into  the  room,  and  drew  a  clasp-knife 
from  his  pocket.  He  cut  loose  the  scarf  across  Tim's 
mouth,  but  the  cords  round  his  wrists  he  untied  carefully. 

"We  shall  need  these,"  he  whispered.  "It's  bedad  tricky 
work  up  there.  Quick  now!  Lee  should  be  back  any  mo- 
ment and  I  don't  gather  he  will  bring  much  matter  with 
him,  eh?" 

"Only  creditors'  accounts,"  said  Tim,  with  a  laugh. 

Rory  tied  a  noose  in  either  end  of  the  rope  and  leaning 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

far  out  backward,  while  Tim  held  him,  he  threw  one 
loop  round  the  spike  of  the  gable.  The  other  end 
of  the  rope  reached  half-way  between  the  sill  and  the 
point  of  the  gable. 

Rory  tested  it.    The  spike  and  noose  held  firm. 

"It  will  serve,"  he  muttered.  "I  will  go  first,  Tim,  and 
give  you  a  hand.  Heaven  grant  you've  a  cool  head." 

He  climbed  on  to  the  window  sill,  steadying  himself  by 
Tim's  shoulder;  then  he  lifted  one  foot  and  put  it  in  the 
noose  and  so,  hauling  himself  up  the  rope,  reached  the 
gable,  and  swung  himself  astride  it.  He  lowered  the  rope 
and  waited  for  Tim  to  follow,  leaning  down  to  give  him  a 
steadying  hand. 

As  he  did  so  he  noticed  that  the  noose  round  the  gable  had 
frayed  with  the  strain  of  his  weight.  He  laughed  softly. 

"Egad !  'twould  seem  the  devil  is  bent  on  having  him,  this 
way  or  hanging.  It  won't  stand  his  weight." 

He  crooked  his  knees  and  one  arm  round  the  point  of 
the  gable,  and  swung  head  downward,  reaching  out  his  hand 
just  as  Tim  put  his  foot  in  the  noose  of  the  rope. 

"Put  your  weight  on  my  shoulder,  Tim,"  he  said;  "the 
rope  is  giving." 

Timothy  drew  in  his  breath  sharply,  but  he  had  no  time  to 
think  of  the  depth  below.  He  steadied  himself  by  the  top 
of  the  window  with  one  foot  on  the  sill  and  one  in  the 
dangling  noose.  Then  with  a  wild  spring  he  trusted  his 
weight  for  one  second  to  the  rope  and  clutched  at  Rory's 
hand.  He  got  one  knee  on  the  top  of  the  window,  sharing 
his  weight.  He  loosed  Rory's  hand  and  flung  his  arm  over 
his  shoulder ;  with  another  effort  he  worked  his  foot  to  the 
top  of  the  open  lattice,  grasped  the  spike  of  the  gable  and 
stood  a  moment  resting  his  feet  on  window  and  fraying 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR 

rope  and  hanging  his  weight  on  his  arms  while  Rory 
struggled  back  to  an  upright  position  and  hauled  him  up 
to  his  side  on  the  gable. 

Then  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed 
triumphantly. 

"A  hot  corner,  eh,  Tim?  I'm  thinking  they'll  seek  your 
mangled  corpse  in  the  gutter." 

Tim  held  out  his  hand.     "Thanks,  Rory,"  he  said  simply. 

Rory  shook  the  outstretched  hand,  eyeing  him  queerly. 

"Couldn't  let  you  hang,  Tim.  You  owe  me  my  revenge  at 
ecarte.  Come  along  now,  we've  no  time  to  waste  in — er — 
compliment." 

"If  the  others  guess  your  hand  in  this " 

"It  will  be  mighty  unpleasant,"  said  Rory,  grinning, 
"but  they  will  have  no  clue  to  your  rescuer.  Egad !  I  was 
glad  to  find  you  alone  in  the  room." 

The  two  men  crawled  to  the  end  of  the  gable,  where  a 
rope  ladder  hung  from  the  ridge  of  the  roof.  Up  this  they 
scrambled  and  dropped  on  to  the  flat  tiles  on  the  further 
side.  Rory  dragged  the  ladder  up  after  him. 

"Thank  your  stars  we  are  in  time,"  he  gasped  breath- 
lessly. "I  must  put  this  ladder  back  before  the  others  miss 
it.  Be  off  with  you,  Tim.  Straight  along  the  roofs  till 
you  are  over  the  'Cock  and  Bull'  tavern.  You'll  find  the 
skylight  on  the  right  open.  Go  straight  through  the 
house;  no  one  should  stop  you,  but  if  there  are  any  ques- 
tions from  Rigby  tell  him  'Geordie  has  gone  over  the  water' ; 
that  will  silence  him.  But  should  you  meet  Marcus  or 
Stavely,  demme!  jump  into  space  rather  than  let  them 
catch  you  now." 

"Are  you  not  coming,  too  ?" 

"Not  I,"  said  Rory,  crossing  to  the  open  trap  in  the  roof. 


228  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"I'm  going  back  to  watch  their  faces  when  they  find  you 
flown,  and  do  some  monstrous  entertaining  play-acting." 

With  a  soft  laugh  he  clambered  out  of  sight  down  the  trap 
and  Timothy  sped  over  the  roofs  in  the  direction  of  Cock 
Alley. 

He  listened  a  moment  at  the  skylight,  then  slipped  through 
into  the  attic  below  and  hurried  out  on  to  the  stairs.  He 
paused  again  to  listen  and  peered  down.  No  one  was  to  be 
seen,  but  behind  the  closed  doors  he  heard  the  rattling  of 
dice.  The  familiar  sound  gave  him  a  feeling  of  security ;  he 
crept  down  the  staircase.  At  the  first  landing  he  stopped 
with  a  beating  heart ;  he  heard  Marcus  Ormonde's  voice  be- 
low at  the  turn  of  the  stairs. 

Without  a  second's  delay  he  turned  and  hurried  down  the 
passage  on  his  left,  and  opening  a  door  at  the  end  slipped 
into  a  room  just  as  two  men  turned  the  corner. 

The  room  was  in  darkness  save  for  the  dim  light  from  the 
window,  but  he  heard  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress  and  a 
low  cry.  He  held  up  his  hand  for  silence  and  stood  with 
his  ear  to  the  door,  listening  to  the  retreating  footsteps  of 
the  two  men.  To  his  amazement  the  woman  ran  across  the 
room  to  his  side  and  seizing  his  hand  in  hers,  lifted  it  to  her 
lips. 

"Ah !  you've  come  again  as  you  promised,"  she  whispered. 
"I  was  main  feared  you'd  leave  me,  Mr.  Winnington." 

Tim  stood  silent  till  he  heard  the  men's  footsteps  die  away, 
then  he  slipped  his  hand  over  her  mouth  to  prevent  a 
scream,  and  drew  her  back  from  the  door. 

"I'm  not  Rory  Winnington,"  he  said,  "but  he  sent  me 
here." 

She  wrenched  free  from  his  hand.  "Sent  you  here? 
Won't  he  come  himself?  Who  are  you?" 


BEHIND  THE  BROWN  DOOR  229 

"Never  mind  that,  I  am  going  now,"  said  Tim,  hurriedly 
fumbling  for  the  latch. 

"Stop !"  cried  the  woman.  She  ran  across  the  room,  struck 
a  flint  and  lighted  a  candle. 

Timothy  took  two  steps  toward  her. 

"Martha!"  he  gasped.  "So  I've  found  you  at  last,  my 
girl." 

She  stared  at  him,  her  eyes  growing  wide  with  fright. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me,  Mr.  Curtis?"  she  asked, 
shrinking  back. 

Tim  stopped.  He  dared  not  wait  much  longer ;  any  mo- 
ment they  might  pursue  him  and  find  he  had  not  left  the 
tavern.  He  must  not  frighten  the  girl  or  he  would  lose  her. 
He  held  out  his  hand  encouragingly. 

"No  harm,  child,"  he  said  coaxingly,  "but  I  want  a  little 
of  your  company,  I  want  a  talk  with  you.  Will  you  come 
and  see  me  to-morrow?  You  know  where  I  live." 

She  eyed  him  queerly,  but  seemed  in  no  wise  averse  to  his 
proposal.  "What  do  you  want?"  she  asked,  with  a  toss  of 
her  head. 

"You'll  come?"  he  coaxed,  drawing  nearer.  "I  want  you 
monstrously,  my  dear." 

She  laughed,  looking  at  him  with  a  pleased  light  in  her 
eyes.  "I  don't  know/'  she  said  slowly.  "What  would  folks 
say,  Mr.  Curtis?" 

"Are  we  so  particular,  eh?  Well — meet  me  at — er — 
Mason's  rooms  at  eleven.  'Tis  a  convenient  place." 

"Ay,"  she  said  slowly,  "convenient  enough."  She  eyed 
him  thoughtfully.  "Maybe  I'll  come,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said, 
"maybe  I  won't.  I  don't  know." 

"If  you  do  not,  I  shall  come  and  fetch  you,"  he  said, 
laughing. 


230 

She  gave  a  little  pleased  laugh  of  vanity.  "Do  you  want 
me  that  bad?  Then  I'll  come.  I'd  as  lief  show — others — 
I've  more  than  one  string  to  my  bow." 

Tim  dared  stay  no  longer.  "Good  girl,"  he  said,  patting 
her  cheek.  "I  shall  be  waiting  for  you  at  eleven  o'  the  clock. 
Don't  fail  me."  With  a  parting  nod  and  smile  he  opened 
the  door  and  stepped  out  into  the  passage. 

All  was  quiet.  Without  further  interruption  he  sped  down 
the  stairs,  out  into  the  quiet  street. 

When  he  reached  the  open  air  he  took  to  his  heels  and  ran 
the  length  of  Cock  Alley,  as  though  all  his  enemies  were  in 
pursuit.  He  dared  not  risk  Peter's  Wynd  and  the  chance 
of  the  brown  door  opening  as  he  passed.  He  ran  till  he 
reached  his  rooms.  Only  when  at  last  he  found  himself  in 
his  comfortable  lighted  chamber  and  had  refreshed  his  spirit 
with  a  glass  of  wine,  did  his  full  courage  revive.  He  looked 
across  at  the  dark  house  opposite,  and  wondered  what  was 
happening  behind  its  silent  walls. 

Five  minutes  later  he  heard  the  door  in  Peter's  Wynd  open 
softly ;  three  men  stepped  out  into  the  passage.  He  heard 
Ormonde's  voice. 

"If  he  jumped  he  is  bound  to  be  killed.  Why,  demme!  'tis 
a  fall  of  fifty  feet." 

Tim  snatched  up  a  lamp  and  crossed  to  the  open  window. 
He  leaned  out  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "A  fine  night  for  a 
stroll." 

Three  faces  of  blank  amazement  were  lifted  to  the  win- 
dow. Three  low  and  fervent  ejaculations  echoed  down  the 
silent  street. 

With  a  chuckle  Tim  pulled  a  curtain  across  the  window  and 
left  the  three  men  staring  up  into  the  darkness  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   BROKEN    BUTTERFLY 

IN  a  small  house  on  the  wall,  hard  by  the  west  gate  of  the 
city,  Mrs.  Juliana  Mason,  a  stout  and  smiling  dame,  with  a 
large  heart  and  loose  morals,  held  her  abode  and  offered 
entertainment  to  such  of  the  dwellers  in  the  city  as  hovered 
only  on  the  outskirts  of  society  and  were  denied  entrance 
to  the  more  select,  but  in  no  wise  more  reputable,  portals  of 
"Simpson's  rooms"  or  "Wiltshire's  assemblies." 

Mrs.  Mason's  establishment  boasted  one  large  room  where 
coffee  and  chocolate  were  served  on  command,  and  two  small 
private  rooms  at  the  back,  with  windows  looking  out  over 
the  King's  Mead  meadows  that  bordered  the  Bristol  Road. 

At  the  door  of  this  hospitable  mansion  Timothy  waited  the 
following  morning,  looking  eagerly  down  the  narrow  street 
for  the  approach  of  Martha  Williams.  He  was  mortally 
afraid  that  she  would  suspect  his  purpose  and  fail  him,  but 
punctual  to  the  hour  he  saw  her  trim  and  showily  dressed 
little  figure  trip  jauntily  into  sight  round  the  corner,  her 
pretty  face  wearing  a  ludicrous  expression  of  complacent 
vanity.  Tim  hurried  out  to  meet  her,  and  together  they 
went  in  and  secured  a  table  in  one  corner  of  the  large 
coffee-room. 

The  room  already  held  a  goodly  complement  of  visitors: 
well-to-do  tradesfolk ;  gaily  dressed  ladies  of  the  demi- 
monde with  their  ardent  escorts ;  ladies'  maids  and  gentle- 
men's gentlemen.  Martha  sipped  her  chocolate  and  looked 
about  her  with  the  pleased  wonder  of  a  child  at  a  show,  and 
Timothy  watched  her  with  a  humorous  tolerance,  puzzling 


232 

his  brains  how  to  open  his  attack  on  this  soulless  little  atom 
of  humanity. 

Martha's  attention  was  much  occupied  with  watching  a 
yellow-haired  demoiselle  from  the  theater  below  the  As- 
sembly Rooms. 

"Do  you  think  her  so  pretty,  Mr.  Curtis?"  she  asked 
na'ivejy. 

"I  don't  know,  I  am  not  looking  at  her,"  answered  Tim, 
smiling  into  her  blue  eyes. 

She  gave  a  pleased  laugh.  "There's  many  pretty  faces  in 
Bath,  sir,"  she  said.  "They  say  the  new  beauty,  Miss 
Smallshaw,  is  loveliest  of  all.  Do  you  know  her,  Mr.  Curtis?" 

"Oh,  yes !  I  know  her  well." 

"Does  Mr.  Winnington  know  her  ?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"Mr.  Winnington  !  Egad !  yes,"  laughed  Tim. 

She  looked  up  quickly,  catching  his  thought  and  frowning 
at  the  idea  his  words  suggested.  "Is  she  so  beautiful?"  she 
asked  jealously. 

"Some  hold  her  so  beautiful  that  they  would  give  all  they 
possess  to  win  her  favour." 

She  sat  a  moment  silent,  then  she  tossed  her  head.  "My 
Miss  Winnington  is  more  beautiful  than  any  lady,"  she 
said  defiantly. 

Tim  started  and  looked  down  at  her  with  a  friendly  smile. 

"Your  taste  is  commendable,  Martha,"  he  said. 

She  nodded.  "Ah !  but  you  haven't  seen  her  as  I  have,  Mr. 
Curtis,"  she  said.  "She's  as  white  as  a  lily.  Her  hair — 'tis 
all  her  own,  Mr.  Curtis,  and  it  comes  down  to  here,  and  it 
shines  like — like  lamplight  on  a  gentleman's  sword."  She 
caught  the  look  on  his  face,  and  laughed  saucily.  "You'd 
fain  see  her  as  I've  seen  her,  wouldn't  you,  sir?  And  she's 
that  bright — 'twas  a  pleasure  to  serve  her." 


THE  BROKEN  BUTTERFLY  233 

"Then  why  did  you  leave  her  service  ?"  he  asked  quickly. 

She  looked  up  suspiciously.  "I — I  was  tired  of  service," 
she  muttered  sullenly. 

"You  would  rather  play  the  lady,  eh  ?  You  silly  little  pea- 
cock !"  He  laughed  down  at  her  angry  face. 

She  tossed  her  head  indignantly.  "I  may  be  a  lady  some 
day.  There's  no  telling.  There's  fortunes  in  faces." 

"You  a  lady !  Not  you.  Ladies  don't  tell  lies  about  gentle- 
men, my  dear." 

"Some  does.  And  who  has  told  lies  about  gentlemen?" 

"You  have.  You  told  Lady  Wimbourne  'twas  I  who  bribed 
you  to  steal  her  papers." 

He  shot  the  bolt  without  any  warning,  and  the  shot  went 
home.  A  frightened  look  crept  into  her  eyes  and  her  mouth 
opened  in  astonishment. 

"Does  she  know  I  did  it?"  she  whispered.  "How  does  she 
know  I  did  it?" 

Timothy  was  nonplussed.  He  had  understood  from  Ade- 
laide that  the  girl  had  been  charged  with  her  share  in  the 
theft  and  had  thrown  the  burden  on  his  shoulders.  But  now 
it  would  appear  he  was  mistaken.  He  saw  a  chance  to  obtain 
a  hold  over  her,  but  it  demanded  cautious  treading. 

"Why  did  you  tell  her  I  bribed  you?"  he  repeated 
sternly. 

"I  never  did !"  she  cried.  "On  my  soul  I  never  did !  Why, 
how  could  I,  Mr.  Curtis  ?  I  left  next  morning.  I  never  saw 
her  after — "  She  stopped  and  put  her  hand  over  her  mouth. 

"After  what?" 

"I  won't  tell  you,"  she  said.  "I  won't  talk  to  you  any  more 
about  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will!"  said  Tim  cheerily.  "You  will  tell 
me  all  about  it.  See  here,  you  silly  child,  you  would  like  to 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

go  back  to  serve  Miss  Winnington?  If  you  will  tell  me  how 
you  took  those  papers,  and  to  whom  you  gave  them,  I  will 
ask  her  to  take  you  back." 

The  girl  set  her  mouth  obstinately.  "I'd  as  lief  be  free," 
she  said  indifferently.  "I'm  tired  o'  service." 

"You'll  find  prison  a  plaguy  more  wearisome  place." 

"Prison !"  she  cried.  "She  wouldn't  send  me  to  prison, 
Miss  Winnington  wouldn't." 

"No,  possibly  not.  But  I  will,  if  you  refuse  to  clear  me," 
he  said  sharply.  "Listen  here,  child.  Miss  Winnington  be- 
lieves that  'twas  to  me  you  gave  what  you  stole.  She  must 
be  told  the  truth." 

She  eyed  him  qucerly.  "Why  should  she  think  that  ?" 

"No  matter  why ;  she  does  think  it,  and  you  must  tell  the 
truth  or  go  to  gaol.  Now,  be  reasonable.  You  took  the 
papers  ?" 

"He  made  me,"  she  muttered  defiantly. 

"Very  good.  He  made  you.  Who  is  he?" 

"I  won't  tell  you,"  she  repeated  obstinately. 

Tim  gave  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "We'll  see  about  that 
presently.  Now  tell  me  how  you  did  it." 

The  girl  hesitated.  "You — you'll  not  be  hard  on  me,  Mr. 
Curtis?"  she  asked  unsteadily. 

"Not  if  you  tell  the  truth,"  he  answered.  He  looked  at 
her.  Tears  were  very  near  her  eyes;  he  was  fearful  of  a 
scene  in  public.  "Come  along  into  the  inner  room,"  he  said 
kindly.  "  'Tis  more  convenient  for  a  talk." 

She  rose  reluctantly  and  followed  him,  evidently  too 
frightened  to  refuse.  Tim  secured  the  use  of  one  of  the 
little  rooms  at  the  back  and  motioned  her  to  sit  in  the  chair 
by  the  window. 

"Now,"  he  said,  stooping  to  pinch  her  cheek,  "there's  no 


THE  BROKEN  BUTTERFLY  235 

call  for  tears.  I  won't  harm  you ;  but  be  reasonable  and  tell 
the  truth.  Where  did  you  find  the  papers  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Curtis." 

"Nonsense !"  said  Tim,  sharply.   "You  must  know." 

"I  don't,  Mr.  Curtis,  on  my  soul  I  don't.  First  he  bid  me 
get  him  my  lady's  writing  box ;  and  then  my  lady's  letter- 
case,  and  then  the  key  of  her  cabinet,  and  then  her  jewel- 
casket.  But  he  wouldn't  tell  me  what  he  wanted  and  I  don't 
know  what  he  took." 

"Her  jewel-casket?"  asked  Tim  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Curtis,  and  then  he  sent  me  back  for  her  gold 
bracelet  she  puts  under  her  pillow  o'  nights ;  and  I  was  so 
afraid  she  would  waken.  But  he  didn't  take  that,  I  had  to 
put  it  back  again." 

"What  the  plague  did  he  want  it  for?"  muttered  Tim. 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Curtis,  I  don't  know  what  he  wanted. 
Please,  sir,  let  me  go  now,  there's  no  more  to  tell." 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is,  my  pretty  one.  You  must  tell  me  the 
name  of  the  man  whom  you  say  made  you  do  it." 

"What  will  they  do  to  him  ?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"That  is  no  affair  of  yours.  Who  is  he?" 

"I  won't  tell  you.  I  won't  ever  tell  you,  so  how  you  ask," 
she  said  obstinately.  "I'd  do  it  again  if  he  asked  me." 

Tim  looked  at  her  in  desperation. 

"You  blessed  little  fool,"  he  muttered.  "I'll  drag  the  truth 
out  of  you  by  some  means.  See  here,  child,  be  reasonable. 
This  man's  a  rascal ;  you  must  let  him  take  his  punishment. 
What  has  he  done  for  you  that  you  should  take  his  crime 
upon  your  own  shoulders — or  for  the  matter  of  that  saddle 
me  with  it?  Did  he  give  you  money?  I  will  double  the 
price.  Is  it  kisses  he  bought  you  with?  You  owe  him  little 
for  that,  they  are  cheap  enough." 


236  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

She  flushed  angrily.  "He  loves  me.  Belike  he'll  make  me 
a  lady." 

He  laughed  scornfully.  "Do  you  build  on  that,  you  silly 
little  creature?  Can't  you  see,  child,  he  only  uses  you? 
When  you  cease  to  be  of  service  to  him  he'll  drop  you  into 
the  gutter.  Can't  you  see —  Oh !  plague  take  the  woman !" 
He  broke  off  savagely,  staring  helplessly  at  the  girl's 
obstinate  back. 

She  sat  with  her  elbows  resting  on  the  window  sill,  her 
chin  in  her  hand,  staring  out  on  the  King's  Mead.  Tim  put 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"If  you  won't  tell  me,  will  you  tell  Miss  Winnington?"  he 
pleaded. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I'll  tell  no  one.  I  swore  I  would 
not." 

"You  obstinate  little  devil !"  he  cried  savagely,  giving  her 
a  shake.  "I'll  make  you  speak."  Then  he  turned  sharply 
away  and  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  mastering  his 
temper. 

Suddenly  Martha  started ;  she  dropped  her  hands  to  the 
sill  and  leaning  forward  stared  eagerly  out  of  the  window. 

"Is  that  Miss  Smallshaw?"  she  asked. 

Tim  glanced  over  her  shoulder.  "Yes,"  he  said  shortly. 
"What  do  you  want  with  her?" 

Rory  Winnington  and  Dorothy  were  riding  side  by  side 
across  the  King's  Mead,  their  reins  hanging  loosely  on  the 
horses'  necks,  their  heads  close  together. 

Martha  drew  a  long  breath.  "She's  very  beautiful,"  she 
muttered. 

Tim  gave  a  laugh  of  exasperation.  "My  good  girl,  keep 
to  the  affair  in  hand.  See  here,  my  dear,  if  you'll  tell  me 
this  man's  name  you  shall  have — "  He  paused  to  think  of 


THE  BROKEN  BUTTERFLY  237 

some  object  of  feminine  enticement.  "You  shall  have  the 
prettiest  gown  in  Bath." 

Martha  did  not  answer.  She  was  breathing  quickly,  lean- 
ing out  over  the  sill  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  two  riders. 

The  King's  Mead  was  deserted,  save  for  these  two,  and  it 
was  evident  they  had  forgotten  that  walls  have  eyes  and 
considered  themselves  alone.  They  were  a  handsome  couple, 
well  matched  in  every  way,  and  obviously  content  with  each 
other's  company.  Rory- rode  with  his  hand  on  Dorothy's 
arm,  his  head  bent  low  over  hers,  talking  eagerly.  Both 
were  laughing,  but  there  was  a  blush  on  her  cheek,  a  glint 
in  her  eye,  that  bespoke  an  earnest  undercurrent  to  their 
conversation.  From  their  attitudes  and  expression  it 
seemed  that  he  was  half  pleading,  half  threatening,  and  she 
laughing  defiance  of  his  threat. 

Suddenly,  just  as  they  passed  below  Mason's  window, 
Rory  gave  a  soft  laugh  of  mischief,  slipped  his  arm  round 
Dorothy's  waist  and  kissed  her  cheek.  She  started  back 
with  a  laugh,  whipped  up  her  horse  and  cantered  across  the 
meadow  to  the  west  gate,  while  Rory  rode  after  her  with  a 
smile  in  his  eyes. 

Timothy  saw  nothing  of  this  comedy.  He  had  flung  him- 
self desperately  back  into  a  chair,  racking  his  brains  for 
further  arguments  to  move  the  obstinate  girl.  He  had  never 
in  his  life  felt  more  helpless  and  was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep 
hold  on  his  temper,  feeling  his  secret  so  near,  yet  so  unat- 
tainable. 

Suddenly  Martha  threw  up  her  head  and  turned  to  face 
him. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  shortly,  "I'll  tell  you  what  you 
want  to  know." 

He  stared  at  her  in  amazement.    Her  whole  face  seemed 


238  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

changed,  its  lines  were  sharp  and  pinched;  the  soft  lips 
of  her  pouting  mouth  were  hard  and  set,  the  look  in  her 
eyes  was  almost  savage. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  she  said,  "tell  you  all  he  has  done  to  me, 
and  you  may  do  to  him  what  you  will." 

"Marvellous!"  muttered  Tim.  "What  the  plague  docs 
this  mean?.  Is  it  the  dress  has  caught  her?" 

"The  man  who  bribed  me  is  the  same 

He  stopped  her  with  a  sudden  thought.  "Wait,"  he  said, 
"do  not  tell  me  yet.  They  must  have  no  grounds  for  be- 
lieving we've  concocted  the  tale  together.  Come  with  me 
now  to  Miss  Winnington  and  tell  me  in  her  presence." 

"Miss  Winnington?"  she  said  slowly  and  for  an  instant 
her  face  softened.  But  only  for  an  instant;  it  grew  hard 
and  stern  once  more  and  she  nodded.  "They  are  all  o'  the 
same  feather,"  she  muttered.  "Yes,  I  will  go  with  you,  Mr. 
Curtis." 

"I  will  send  for  a  coach,"  he  said,  fearful  of  losing  her 
again  before  she  could  reach  St.  James's  Parade.  His 
heart  was  on  fire  to  reach  Celia's  side  and  make  her  hear  the 
truth.  Half  an  hour  more  and  then — who  knows  ? — he  might 
hold  her  in  his  arms. 

It  was  full  fifteen  minutes  before  the  coach  appeared.  Tim 
paced  the  room  impatiently,  looking  anxiously  at  Martha, 
lest  she  should  show  signs  of  relenting.  But  she  sat  passive, 
staring  moodily  before  her,  and  he  was  forced  to  call  her 
twice  before  she  roused  herself  to  follow  him  to  the  coach. 

Rory  Winnington,  obeying  Miss  Smallshaw's  imperative 
command,  parted  from  her  at  the  west  gate,  and  well  pleased 
with  his  morning,  trotted  through  the  streets,  humming  an 
air,  till  he  reached  his  brother-in-law's  house  in  St.  James's 
Parade.  He  dismounted,  threw  the  reins  to  a  servant,  and 


THE  BROKEN  BUTTERFLY  239 

learning  that  Tracy  was  in  his  library,  strode  up  the  stairs 
to  join  him.  But  as  he  passed  the  music  room  he  heard 
Celia's  voice  singing  at  the  harpsichord,  and  pushing  open 
the  door  he  entered  on  tip-toe  to  listen. 

The  words  of  her  song  were  simple,  composed  by  one  of 
the  many  minor  poets  of  the  day  ;  but  the  music  had  a  tender 
lilt,  and  she  sang  as  though  the  words  came  from  her  heart : 

"I  made  my  dear  a  garland 

To  twine  his  brows  above, 
White  roses  for  our  faithfulness, 

Red  roses  for  our  love. 
He  dropped  it  by  the  river, 

And  heedless  let  it  lie, 
So  I  have  brought  it  home  with  me 

To  watch  the  roses  die. 

"I  made  my  dear  a  promise 

And  sealed  it  with  a  kiss, 
That  all  my  life  should  be  his  joy, 

His  service  all  my  bliss. 
But  Cupid  never  sanctioned 

A  bargain  such  as  ours, 
For  he  has  ta'en  my  whole  fond  heart 

And  left  me  withered  flowers." 

Her  voice  died  away  on  the  last  word,  she  bowed  her  head 
down  on  the  lid  of  the  harpsichord  and  sat  very  still. 

Rory  crossed  to  her  side  and  slipped  his  arm  round  her 
neck. 

"Celia,"  he  said  softly,  "is  the  world  going  hardly  with 
you,  sister  mine?" 


240  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

She  put  up  her  hand  to  his  and  lifted  her  head.  There 
were  no  tears  in  her  eyes,  only  a  look  of  infinite  weariness. 

"Oh,  Rory,"  she  said,  "I'm  glad  'tis  you.  Stay  and  talk 
to  me ;  I  have  the  vapours." 

He  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  bench  of  the  harpsichord. 

"The  vapours !"  he  said  jestingly.  "What !  Is  the  Queen  of 
Bath  already  wearied  of  her  subjects?" 

"Oh,  Rory,"  she  cried  impatiently,  "  'tis  all  so  stale,  so 
wearisome.  Day  after  day,  the  same  compliments,  the  same 
gallantries,  the  same  jests.  There  is  no  truth,  no  virtue  in 
it  all.  What  is  the  worth  of  such  a  life?" 

"And  yet,  Celie,  a  week  ago  you  were  entranced  with  your 
queendom  ?" 

She  leaned  her  cheek  against  his  hand  with  a  little  sigh. 

"Was  I?  But  that  was  a  week  ago." 

He  turned  her  face  to  his.  "Sister  mine,"  he  said  softly, 
"is  the  Queen  of  Bath  wearied  all  for  lack  of  one  of  her 
subjects?" 

She  flushed  and  dropped  her  eyes.  Rory  ran  his  fingers 
softly  over  the  keys  of  the  harpsichord. 

"Celia,  would  you  have  no  charity — for  a  spy?"  he  asked 
abruptly.  "No  forgiveness?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "How  were  it  possible,  Rory  ?  What 
shred  of  virtue  could  he  still  possess  ?" 

"A  spy  has  courage ;  he  carries  his  life  in  his  hands." 

"So  does  many  an  honest  man." 

"He  might  still  love,  child." 

"And  of  what  worth  his  love,  tainted  with  dishonour?  A 
woman,  winning  such  love,  is  cheapened  by  his  homage. 
Without  his  honour  a  man  is  stripped  clean,  indeed." 

"Honour,"  said  Rory  slowly.  "What  is  honour?  This 
man  holds  his  honour  what  that  man  holds  his  shame.  One 


THE  BROKEN  BUTTERFLY 

will  lie  to  save  his  honour;  another  kills  for  his  honour's 
sake.  Every  man  prates  of  his  honour,  but  every  honour 
has  its  price.  With  one  'tis  gold,  with  another  love.  Who 
shall  judge?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled.  "Rory,  vagabond  !  I  know 
you  too  well  to  think  you  earnest  now.  Why  !  'twas  you 
who  first  taught  me  the  worth  men  set  on  honour.  Do  you 
remember?  We  were  babies  —  playing  we  were  Desmond's 
men.  You  were  in  hiding  and  I  betrayed  you  to  Laidie. 
You  would  not  speak  to  me  for  a  week,  you  held  my  crime 
so  heinous.  Since  that  day  I  have  never,  even  in  thought, 
dared  to  play  the  traitor." 

Rory  looked  at  her  with  a  wistful  smile. 

"Ah!  Celie,  those  days  of  dreams  are  very  far  away." 

She  dropped  her  head  back  upon  his  arm.  "If  honour 
were  a  dream,  Rory,  then  I  should  pray  God  never  to  let 
me  wake.  But  it  is  no  dream,  dear.  It  is  the  one  true  worth 
our  spirits  hold;  let  us  lose  that  and  we  fall  lower  than 
Lucifer." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  Rory  rose  to  his  feet 
and  crossed  to  the  window. 

"Celia,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I  do  not  believe  Tim  Curtis  a 


"You  do  not?"  she  cried  quickly.  "What  reasons  have 
you?" 

"Nay,  tell  me  first  the  reasons  to  believe  it." 

"Lord  Pelham  himself  has  accused  him." 

"Pelham!  Egad,  child!  Pelham's  a  minister.  You'd  sure 
never  hold  him  accountable  for  his  words  ?" 

"But  why  should  he  accuse  him  falsely,  unprovoked?" 

"He  has  a  quarrel  with  Curtis.  Tim  has  a  plaguy  explicit 
tongue  on  occasion." 


"But — but,  Rory,  none  else  knew  that  Laidie  had  the 
papers." 

He  laughed.  "Tut!  child,  you  cannot  keep  a  secret  so 
close  in  this  world.  I'll  lay  a  dozen  folk  knew  of  it.  Why,  I 
knew." 

"You,  Rory?" 

"Yes,  but  for  that  you  do  not  dub  me  spy." 

"Yet  if  it  were  not  Mr.  Curtis,  who  has  stolen  the  papers  ?" 

"That  I  would  give  my  left  hand  to  find  out.  But  if  it  be 
Tim  Curtis — never  again  call  me  a  judge  of  an  honest 
man." 

She  sighed.  "Ah,  well!  'tis  like  we  shall  soon  be  assured. 
Tracy  has  promised  to  hunt  the  kingdom  through  till  we 
find  Martha." 

Rory  turned  and  faced  her.  "Martha!"  he  said  slowly. 
"What  should  that  pink-and-white  piece  of  goods  do  in  this 
affair?" 

"  'Tis  only  through  her  aid  the  papers  could  have  been 
taken." 

Rory  nodded.  "So  'twould  seem,  if  Laidie  kept  them  so 
close.  So  Tracy  is  on  her  track,  eh?" 

"Yes ;  she  alone  can  give  us  the  clue.  He  has  promised  me 
he  will  not  rest  till  he  has  found  her  and  learned  the  truth." 

Rory  eyed  her  a  moment  with  a  strange  smile.  Then  his 
face  hardened.  "  'Twould  seem  to  me,  sister  mine,"  he  said 
sharply,  "that  you  were  better  employed  learning  the  value 
of  an  honest  gentleman's  love,  than  in  hounding  on  Tracy 
to  track  some  poor  devil  to  his  doom." 

Celia  flushed  and  threw  up  her  head.  "  'Tis  a  doom  he 
richly  deserves,  Rory." 

"Deserves  ?"  he  said  sternly.  "How  know  you  what  a  man 
deserves?  Do  you  think  one  who  throws  away  his  honour 


THE  BROKEN  BUTTERFLY  243 

walks  so  lightly  without  it  ?  I  tell  you,  child,  he  pays  to  the 
full  the  price  of  his  freedom." 

The  door  opened  and  Tracy  entered  hurriedly,  an  eager 
light  in  his  eyes. 

"Celia,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Curtis  is  below.  He  has  found  this 
girl  Martha  and  brought  her  here  to  clear  him  of  sus- 
picion." 

Celia  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  little  cry  of  j  oy . 

"Ah,  Tracy!  I  knew,  I  knew  he  was  innocent.  Ah!  but 
we  must  ask  his  pardon,  indeed,  for  this  shameful  insult. 
Bring  him  up,  Tracy,  let — let  me  speak  to  him." 

Tracy  eyed  her  doubtfully.  "Wait  at  least,  Celia,  till  we 
hear  what  is  the  girl's  story." 

He  stepped  out  on  to  the  landing  to  bid  the  servant  bring 
up  the  visitors.  Rory  stood  looking  down  at  Celia  with  a 
wondering  smile  in  his  eyes ;  his  face  was  flushed. 

"You  are  still  resolute,  Celie,  to  hound  this  spy  to  punish- 
ment?" he  asked  slowly. 

She  clasped  her  hands  entreatingly.  "Ah !  Rory,  don't 
hold  me  cruel.  Indeed,  indeed,  I  pity  him.  But  Rory  dar- 
lint,"  she  coaxed,  "sure  I  must  know  the  truth,  for  until  he 
is  unmasked,  Mr.  Curtis  bears  his  guilt." 

He  took  her  face  between  his  hands  and  kissed  it.  "Go 
your  own  way  then,  child,  and  may  you  never  repent  it."  He 
turned  away  as  the  others  entered  the  room. 

Timothy  advanced  to  Celia  with  a  face  of  triumph  and  a 
look  in  his  eyes  that  called  the  blush  to  her  cheeks. 

"Miss  Winnington,  I  have  found  the  truant.  And  I  have 
ventured  to  promise  in  your  name  that  if  she  will  tell  us 
for  whom  she  stole  Lady  Wimbourne's  papers  you  will  re- 
ceive her  back  into  your  service.  Have  I  taken  too  much 
upon  myself?" 


244  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Celia  looked  across  at  the  girl.  "No,"  she  said  gently ;  "if 
she  tells  us  the  truth  she  shall  suffer  nothing  in  conse- 
quence." 

"Come  then,"  said  Tim  gaily,  "out  with  it,  Martha.  Who 
is  the  man?" 

The  girl  stood  silent,  staring  at  Rory,  who  sat  at  the 
harpsichord,  with  his  back  to  the  group,  softly  fingering 
the  keys. 

"Come,  girl,  speak,"  cried  Celia  impatiently,  "tell  us  his 
name." 

Martha  threw  up  her  head.  "Yes,"  she  said  fiercely,  "I'll 
tell  you  his  name,  Miss  Winnington.  He's  a  bad  heart  to 
treat  a  woman  so." 

She  stopped  suddenly.  Rory  had  swung  round  on  his  seat 
and  was  looking  at  her  with  a  face  of  whimsical  reproach. 
There  was  neither  anger  nor  menace  in  his  glance,  only  a 
half  weary  smile  under  his  drooping  lids  and  the  familiar 
mocking  twist  of  his  lips. 

The  others  leaned  toward  her,  waiting  eagerly  for  her 
words. 

"Well,  speak  out,  girl,"  said  Tracy  impatiently. 

Without  warning  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
burst  into  tears.  "I'll  not  tell  you,"  she  said,  "I'll  not  tell 
you." 

Timothy  gave  an  exclamation  of  anger.  "You  little 
baggage!"  he  cried.  "Out  with  the  truth  at 
once." 

Tracy  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  "Can  not  you  tell  us 
yourself,  Curtis?" 

"No,"  said  Tim,  angrily.  "Like  a  fool  I  would  not  let  her 
tell  before.  I  would  not  have  you  think  there  was  any  col- 
lusion." He  put  his  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder  and  gave 


THE  BROKEN  BUTTERFLY  245 

her  a  little  shake.  "Now  then.  You  promised  you  would 
tell  Miss  Winnington.  You  shall  speak." 

She  flung  him  off  with  a  savage  movement  and  turned  on 
him  furiously.  "Then  I  will  speak.  Sir  Tracy,  'twas  him, 
'twas  Mr.  Curtis  who  made  me  steal.  'Twas  him  as  took  the 
papers." 

Rory  swung  round  to  the  harpsichord,  and  ran  a  scale 
up  the  keys.  His  face  was  crimson  with  suppressed 
laughter. 

Tim  stood  a  minute  absolutely  silent,  mastering  his  rage. 

"You  lying  little  jade,"  he  said  unsteadily.  "How  dare 
you?"  He  looked  round  on  the  others  eagerly.  "Why,  it's 
clear  she  is  lying.  Should  I  have  brought  her  here  to  tell 
such  a  tale?" 

"No,"  said  Tracy  drily.  "Doubtless  it  was  a  very  differ- 
ent story  she  was  instructed  to  relate." 

Tim  faced  him  squarely.  "You  believe  her  tale  ?"  he  asked. 

Tracy  bowed.   "It  has  the  air  of  truth,  Mr.  Curtis." 

Tim  turned  away  with  «a  hard  laugh  of  exasperation. 
"Then  it  seems  I  must  seek  a  less  convincing  liar,"  he  said 
shortly.  He  glanced  at  Celia  and  his  lip  quivered.  He 
crossed  to  her  side  and  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes.  "Re- 
member, Mistress  Celia,"  he  said  softly,  "I  have  still  my 
week." 

Then  he  went  quietly  away. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  after  his  departure.  Then 
Tracy  beckoned  Martha  to  follow  him  and  left  Rory  alone 
with  his  sister. 

Celia  stood  silent  by  the  window  with  averted  face,  staring 
out  into  the  sunshine  with  hard,  tearless  eyes.  Rory  rose 
and  put  his  hand  on  hers. 

"An  I  were  in  your  place,  sister  mine,"  he  said  softly,  "I 


246  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

would  not  take  the  word  of  a  jealous  woman  against  that 
of  an  honourable  man.  Let  your  heart  speak,  child ;  I  war- 
rant its  eyes  see  deeper  than  the  world's  judgment." 

He  kissed  her  lightly  and  left  her  alone. 

Celia  stood  long  where  he  had  left  her,  with  a  hard  look  on 
her  face  and  a  dull  ache  in  her  heart. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me?"  she  cried  helplessly.  "The 
sun  shines  brightly,  the  birds  still  sing,  the  flowers  bloom 
sweetly ;  all  the  world  is  fair  as  ever,  and  I,  only  I,  am  flat 
and  stale  and  wearisome.  Ah !  what  ails  me  ?" 

She  stared  out  over  the  smiling  landscape  with  quivering 
lip ;  then  she  dropped  her  eyes  and  started.  On  the  window 
sill,  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  sunshine,  close  to  the  petals  of 
a  climbing  rose,  was  a  large  butterfly,  his  bright  colours 
shimmering  in  the  light ;  he  was  crawling  painfully  toward 
the  green  of  the  rose-tree,  dragging  a  broken  wing. 

With  a  little  cry  she  sank  on  her  knees,  the  tears  stream- 
ing from  her  eyes. 

"Poor  butterfly,"  she  whispered,  "poor  butterfly !  You  un- 
derstand. The  sun  shines,  the  birds  sing,  the  flowers  bloom 
sweetly;  but  you  and  I  have  broken  our  wings,  we  shall 
never  fly  again." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"PAN'S   FORTUNE" 

THE  nave  of  the  Abbey  Church  on  a  fine  Sunday  in  July, 
with  the  sunshine  slanting  in  from  the  high  windows,  upon 
silks  and  satins  of  every  conceivable  hue,  upon  waving 
plumes,  flashing  jewels,  glittering  sword-hilts  and  buckles, 
and  gleaming  necks  and  arms,  bore  a  strange  resemblance 
to  a  field  of  Dutch  tulips  after  a  passing  shower  of  rain, 
when  each  dew-filled  cup  flashes  its  shimmering  colours  back 
at  the  sunbeams  and,  swayed  hither  and  thither  by  the 
breeze,  pours  out  its  heart  in  a  wealth  of  perfume. 

The  congregation  was  never  still;  there  was  ever  a  rust- 
ling, a  whispering,  a  clanking  of  swords ;  the  air  was  heavy 
with  innumerable  perfumes  and  stirred  by  the  waving  of 
multi-coloured  fans.  The  grey  walls  made  a  fitting  back- 
ground to  this  blaze  of  colour.  It  was  a  gay  assemblage, 
and  if  some  there  deemed  that  they  did  God  sufficient  service 
by  occupying  His  house  for  an  hour  a  week,  perchance  He, 
who  made  them  what  they  were,  found  pardon. 

The  congregation  rose  and  rustled  out  into  the  sunshine, 
spreading  out  like  a  wide  fan  across  the  Abbey  Green,  and 
hastening  toward  the  Orange  Grove  and  the  walks  beyond. 

"You  are  amazing  impertinent,  Mr.  Winnington,"  laughed 
Dorothy.  "How  dare  you  sit  by  me  in  the  Abbey  after 
your  behaviour  yesterday?" 

"Egad,  madam!  what  did  I  do  amiss?"  asked  Rory  re- 
proachfully. "Did  you  not  bid  me  give  you  proof  of  my 
courage?  What  greater  proof  were  possible  than  to  brave 
your  anger  and  steal  what  you  withheld  ?" 


248  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Thieves  should  be  imprisoned,  Mr.  Winnington." 

"Am  I  not  already  fettered  by  your  eyes  ?" 

Dorothy  looked  at  him  almost  wistfully.  "Are  you  ever 
serious,  I  wonder?"  she  sighed. 

"Heaven  f orf end,  madam !  Never,  save  for  the 
morning  hour  after  a  merry  night.  I  have  not  yet 
found  any  affair  worthy  of  serious  thought — except  a 
headache." 

"Not  even  the  wooing  of  a  wife,  Mr.  Winnington?"  asked 
Lady  Westerby. 

"That  least  of  all,  madam.  If  she  would  not  take  me 
laughing,  I  would  not  take  her  at  all." 

"Yet  how  should  she  know  your  meaning  if  you  laugh  at 
your  own  vows?" 

"Faith !  I'd  marry  her  first  and  explain  my  meaning  after- 
wards." 

"Indeed,  yours  will  be  a  strange  wooing,  sir." 

"A  plague  on  your  wooing!  I  would  say,"  he  turned  to 
Dorothy,  "I  would  say:  'Look  you,  ma'am,  I've  a  mind  to 
be  married  to  you  on  Wednesday  next  at  Gretna.  Let  it 
be  boot,  saddle,  to  horse  and  away  on  Monday  night  at  ten 
o'  the  clock.' " 

Lady  Westerby  laughed.  "And  should  she  refuse  the 
offer?" 

"Why  then,  madam,  I  turn  elsewhere.  I  hold  with  the 
poet:  'If  she  be  not  fair  to  me,  what  care  I  how  fair  she 
be?'" 

"And  you  would  expect  a  woman  to  entrust  herself  to  your 
care?"  asked  Dorothy  slowly.  "Surely  you  must  deem  the 
sex  crazy." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  a  smile.  "Egad !  madam, 
were  she  afraid  I  would  have  none  of  her." 


PAN'S  FORTUNE  249 

"Methinks  you  are  like  to  live  and  die  a  bachelor, 
Mr.  Winnington,"  laughed  Lady  Westerby,  turning 
away. 

"Indeed,  madam,  there  are  worse  fates,"  laughed  Rory. 

"You're  monstrous  ungallant,"  pouted  Dorothy. 

Rory  stooped  and  looked  into  her  eyes  with  a  reckless 
smile:  "Well,  madam, — Gretna  awaits  you." 

Dorothy  laughed  nervously.  "Faith,  sir,  I  prefer  a  less 
tempestuous  wooing." 

"What!  with  Lady  Westerby's  headshakings  over  your 
lover's  improvidence  and  Lord  Westerby's  frowns  at  his 
debts?  With  lawyers  here  and  guardians  there,  and  cere- 
mony everywhere?  Piff !  away  with  it  all — I'll  have  none  of 
it.  But,  Dorothy — "  he  stooped  again  nearer,  "the  wide, 
white  road  and  the  thunder  of  the  hoofs  and  the  rush  of  the 
cold  night  air.  Ten  minutes  alone  with  the  worthy  black- 
smith,— and  then — and  then — Dorothy ' 

"Lud!  then  belike  a  headache,  Mr.  Winnington,"  she 
laughed. 

He  joined  in  her  laugh.  "There  are  some  matters,  madam, 
worth  a  headache,  had  a  woman  but  the  courage  to  believe 
it." 

"I  do  not  lack  courage,"  said  Dorothy  angrily. 

"Then  shall  it  be  Gretna,  madam?" 

She  laughed.  "Methinks  you  said  ten  o'  the  clock  on 
Monday.  There  is  time  'twixt  then  and  now  for  you  to 
woo  a  dozen  women,  Mr.  Winnington.  Are  we  all  to  travel 
north  in  company?" 

"Faith !  it  would  be  a  merry  journey,"  laughed  Rory.  "Yet 
there  is  but  one  woman  who  boasts  the  courage  to  come  with 
me  and  I  do  not  go  to  seek  her  despairing." 

"You  have  amazing  confidence,"  said  Dorothy,  frowning. 


250  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"We  leave  it  at  Monday  then,  madam?"  He  laughed  and 
strode  away  to  greet  Lucy  de  Putren. 

Lucy  de  Putren  was  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  ter- 
race watching  Timothy  Curtis,  who  was  talking  apart  with 
Lady  Westerby.  Timothy  had  taken  his  second  banishment 
from  Celia's  side  very  quietly.  Perhaps  his  eyes  were  a 
shade  harder,  his  laugh  a  shade  less  ready,  but  he  gave  no 
other  sign  of  how  bitter  had  been  the  disappointment  of  his 
hopes.  He  had  lost  all  clue  to  the  personality  of  the  spy  he 
sought  to  unmask,  and  was  for  the  time  at  a  loss  which  way 
to  turn  in  his  search.  It  seemed  hopeless  to  make  another 
attempt  to  extract  her  secret  from  Martha.  Yet  he  had  but 
two  days  more  of  the  week  he  had  begged  of  Celia,  and  as 
he  watched  her  walk  home  from  the  abbey  with  Charles 
Rathborne  by  her  side,  there  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  as  of 
one  who  sees  the  closing  of  the  gates  of  paradise. 

Lucy  de  Putren  marked  his  face  and  gave  an  impatient 
sigh. 

"Mr.  Winnington,"  she  said  shortly,  "an  I  were  a  man  and 
loved  a  woman  I'd  not  waste  my  breath  in  sighing.  What 
ails  Mr.  Curtis,  think  you,  that  he  hath  lost  all  his  cour- 
age?" 

"It  seems  the  Fates  have  a  quarrel  against  him,  and  he's 
out  o'  court  at  Olympus.  He  has  the  devil's  own  luck  just 
now." 

"Heaven  pity  him,"  sighed  Lucy. 

"I  think  one  angel's  pity  would  be  enough  for  him  without 
troubling  the  whole  hierarchy,"  laughed  Rory.  "Women 
ask  so  much  of  a  man." 

"Women !  You  mean  Celia  ?  Mr.  Winnington,  I  crave 
your  pardon  for  saying  it,  but  Celia  is  a  fool." 

"Say  rather  a  dreamer  who  will  not  stoop  to  pick  up  what 


PAN'S  FORTUNE  251 

the  gods  have  thrown  her  because,  forsooth,  it  hath  lain  a 
moment  in  the  dust." 

"Lud !  a  fool  or  a  dreamer — 'tis  all  one  to  me,"  said  Lucy 
sharply.  "I've  small  patience  with  either.  One  moment  she's 
for  flouting  her  friendship  with  him  in  the  face  of  Bath, 
and  the  next  she  is  looking  through  him  as  though  he  were 
nothing  better  than  a  scarecrow.  If  I  were  Tim  Curtis  I 
would  tell  her  plainly  what  I  thought  of  such  conduct." 

"Give  him  your  advice,  madam,"  laughed  Rory.  "He  is 
plaguily  in  need  of  some." 

"I  will,"  said  Lucy  resolutely,  stepping  forward  to  inter- 
cept Tim  as  he  left  Lady  Westerby's  side. 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said,  "  no  man  is  meet  to  wed  a  woman 
who  has  not  courage  to  woo  her." 

Tim  looked  astonished  at  this  sudden  attack.  He  liked 
Lucy  de  Putren  and  she  knew  herself  privileged  to  speak 
her  mind.  She  turned  and  walked  beside  him. 

"Mr.  Curtis,  when  a  woman  sees  a  man  grow  grave  for 
love  of  a  girl  and  the  girl  breaking  her  heart  for  lack  of 
him,  surely,  in  the  interests  of  a  merry  world,  she  should 
bid  him  be  wise  in  time." 

Timothy  turned  and  looked  at  her  eagerly.  "Breaking 
her  heart,  madam  ?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"Ay,  breaking  her  heart  or  souring  her  temper — 'tis  one 
and  the  same  thing,  the  one  is  but  the  outward  sign  of  the 
other.  I'  Heaven's  name,  Mr.  Curtis,  what  is  the  quarrel 
between  you  and  Celia?" 

"She  has  been  told  on  the  most  excellent  authority  that  I 
am  a  Government  spy,  madam,  and  believing  that,  what 
should  she  do  but  scorn  me?" 

"Believing  it — yes.  But  why  the  murrain  should  she  be- 
lieve it?" 


252  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"I  cannot  disprove  it — yet." 

"Then  teach  her  to  trust  you  without  proof.  And  mark 
me,  Mr.  Curtis,  you  will  never  do  that  by  holding  aloof  and 
leaving  her  to  those  who  believe  you  guilty." 

"But,  Lady  de  Putren,  I  have  promised  that  I  will  not  an- 
noy her  with  my  presence." 

"You  have  promised  ?  Without  doubt.  Tell  me,  Mr.  Cur- 
tis, did  she  ask  you  for  such  a  promise?" 

"Why  no,  madam,"  said  Tim,  with  a  laugh  of  dawning 
comprehension. 

"I  knew  it !"  cried  Lucy  triumphantly.  "Oh,  you  men  will 
never  learn  wisdom.  Go  to  her,  Mr.  Curtis,  and  teach  her 
you've  a  tongue  as  well  as  your  accusers." 

"Go  to  her !  Egad !  monstrous  sage  advice,  but  not  so  easily 
obeyed.  I  am  no  welcome  visitor  at  St.  James's  Parade." 

Lucy  gazed  at  the  distant  horizon,  a  mischievous  smile 
playing  about  her  lips.  "This  afternoon  Celia  drives  with 
me  to  Beechen  Wood.  Are  you  like  to  walk  in  that  direc- 
tion?" 

"Madam,  never  in  my  life  was  I  more  set  on  such  a  walk," 
answered  Tim,  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"Then  we  may  chance  to  meet.  And — look  you — Mr.  Cur- 
tis, no  cowardice.  Play  the  rude  Boreas  and  scatter  the 
clouds  that  would  hide  the  light  of  your  Moon." 

As  Celia  drove  out  into  the  country  with  Lady  de  Putren 
that  afternoon,  down  the  rose-bordered  lanes  to  Beechen 
Wood,  for  the  first  time  her  friend's  high  spirits  and  saucy 
tongue  jarred  on  her  nerves.  Lucy  chattered  unceasingly, 
holding  forth  upon  the  follies  of  mortals  in  general  and 
women  in  particular;  breaking  ever  and  anon  into  a  little 
laugh  of  reminiscence  or  anticipation  entirely  inexplicable 
to  Celia. 


PAN'S  FORTUNE  253 

"It  would  seem  I  grow  dense,  Lucy,"  she  broke  out  at  last, 
impatiently,  "but  what  is  there  to  call  for  laughter  in  your 
story  of  that  madcap,  Delia  Leslie  ?" 

"Child,  there  is  cause  for  laughter  in  all  mad  doings. 
Therefore  let  you  and  I  be  mad  to-day,  for  it  seems  you 
have  forgotten  how  to  laugh  this  week  past." 

Celia  started.  "Am  I,  indeed,  so  stale,  Lucy?  Nay  then 
I'll  join  any  frolic  you  choose,  so  it  be  not  selling  oranges 
in  Old  Drury  like  her  Grace." 

"Come  with  me  to  drink  at  Pan's  well,  and  sigh  our  wishes, 
then,"  said  Lucy,  promptly  stopping  the  coach.  "  'Tis  but 
over  that  stile  and  a  few  paces  through  the  wood  there. 
We'll  play  Chloe  and  Phyllis.  Maybe  a  country  Colin  will 
come  our  way  and  we  will  win  his  heart  for  sport.  Come, 
Celia." 

"You  are  mad,  Lucy,"  said  Celia  reluctantly,  alighting 
from  the  coach.  "But  if  you  will  have  it  so  be  quick.  Where 
is  this  well  you  speak  of?" 

Lucy  led  the  way  down  one  of  the  narrow  green  glades  of 
the  wood  till  they  reached  a  small,  moss-carpeted  clearing 
in  the  centre  of  which  was  the  well.  It  was  sunk  in  the 
ground,  roughly  built  round  with  lichened  stone  work,  and 
bowered  in  climbing  roses.  Three  old  stone  steps,  hollowed 
with  age,  led  down  to  the  water.  Celia  gave  an  exclamation 
of  pleasure. 

"How  lovely,  Lucy!  I  vow  'tis  a  most  romantic  spot 
for  your  Colin.  How  comes  it  I  have  never  been  here 
before?" 

"Oh!  'twas  a  vastly  modish  place  last  summer,  but  this 
year  'tis  out  o'  date.  There  have  been  no  pilgrimages  in 
search  of  Pan's  fortune." 

"Pan's  fortune?" 


254.  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Yes.  Did  I  not  tell  you  'twas  a  wishing  well?  Whoso 
drinks  and  cries  on  Pan  shall  have  his  wish." 

She  tripped  down  the  steps,  cupped  her  hand,  and  stooping 
lifted  the  water  to  her  lips.  "Hear,  O  Pan !  for  I  come  a 
most  unselfish  petitioner.  Grant  that  a  maid  may  know  her 
mind  and  that  the  Moon  may  cease  her  multitudinous 
changes."  She  lifted  a  mischievous  face  to  Celia  as  she 
remounted  the  steps.  "Now,  Celia,  'tis  your  turn.  Drink 
and  wish.  Pan  will  hear,  though  you  wish  in  silence." 

Laughing,  half  against  her  will,  Celia  stepped  down  to  the 
water  and  drank.  Then  she  leaned  further  over  the  well 
and  resting  her  hand  on  the  stone  wall  gazed  long  down  at 
her  own  reflection  in  its  depths. 

"How  clear  it  is.  One  would  almost  hope  to  see  the  goat- 
footed  god  sitting  in  the  deep,  but  'tis  only  one's  own  face. 
There's  an  allegory  in  that  thought,  Lucy,  had  one  but  the 
wit  to  work  it  out.  I  shall  offer  the  fancy  to  Mr.  Walpole 
when  we  go  back  to  town." 

There  was  no  answer  save  the  soft  rustling  of  the  leaves. 
Celia  looked  round ;  Lucy  had  disappeared. 

Celia  turned  back  to  the  water  and  waited  for  her  friend 
to  return,  supposing  she  had  wandered  further  down  the 
glade.  The  minutes  passed ;  she  did  not  reappear. 

Presently  Celia  rose  and  walked  after  her,  calling  her 
name,  puzzling  over  her  disappearance. 

"Faith !  'twould  seem  the  madcap  hath  met  her  Colin,"  she 
muttered  impatiently.  She  could  find  no  sign  of  Lucy  and 
retracing  her  steps  hurried  back  to  the  road  where  they  had 
left  the  coach.  The  road  was  empty;  coach,  grooms  and 
Lady  de  Putren  herself  had  all  disappeared ! 

Celia  gazed  blankly  around.  She  was  alone  in  the  wide 
smiling  landscape,  not  a  living  creature  was  in  sight.  It 


PAN'S  FORTUNE  255 

was  evident  that  Lucy  had  deserted  her,  for  what  mad  pur- 
pose she  could  not  conceive.  She  was  very  angry,  but  she 
had  no  mind  to  tramp  back  to  Bath  alone ;  she  would  wait 
until  it  pleased  some  one  to  find  her.  She  sat  down  stiffly  by 
the  roadside,  but  the  sun  beat  down  fiercely  and  the  dust  was 
unpleasant.  Presently  she  rose  and  went  back  into  the  wood, 
and  sitting  on  the  stone  wall  of  the  well,  resumed  her  medi- 
tations upon  her  allegory,  varied  by  indignant  musings 
upon  the  meaning  of  Lucy's  frolic. 

The  wood  was  very  quiet ;  ever  and  anon  the  soft  whistle 
of  a  bird  broke  the  stillness,  and  always  the  rustling  leaves 
whispered  the  secrets  of  nature.  But  it  was  evident  that  she 
was  quite  alone.  The  silence  almost  frightened  her ;  it  seemed 
so  fraught  with  mystery. 

Presently,  far  down  in  the  depths  of  the  wood,  a  twig 
snapped  sharply,  and  a  rich,  baritone  voice  broke  suddenly 
into  song: 

"Oh !  Pan  has  a  kingdom  and  blithe  is  his  sway, 
They  know  no  regret  who  his  ruling  obey, 
For  hope  is  his  counsel  and  joy  his  command, 
And  youth  the  reward  we  receive  at  his  hand. 
Though  faces  be  furrowed  hearts  cannot  grow  old, 
'Neath  the  sway  of  his  sceptre  no  future  looks  cold; 
But  fear  he  must  scorn  and  all  prudence  must  ban 
Who'd  taste  Fortune's  cup  in  the  kingdom  of  Pan." 

The  words  died  away,  but  the  music  still  lilted  merrily  in 
a  low  whistle;  the  bushes  behind  the  well  were  parted  and 
Tim  Curtis  stepped  out  into  the  mossy  circle. 

He  started  to  find  Celia  alone,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  gladly. 

"Good-evening,  Miss  Winnington,"  he  said  gaily.  "What 
brings  you  here  at  this  hour,  and  alone?" 


256 

Celia  rose  to  her  feet  and  faced  him,  crimson  with  indig- 
nation. She  understood  now  the  meaning  of  Lucy's  deser- 
tion and  raged  to  think  that  any  man  should  have  dared  to 
lay  such  a  plot  to  take  her  unawares  and  force  his  com- 
pany upon  her. 

"Methinks,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  coldly,  "there  is  but 
small  need  to  pretend  such  amazement.  'Tis  evident  you 
looked  to  find  me  here." 

He  faced  her  with  an  amused  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  'Tis  true,  madam,  Lady  de  Putren  told  me  at  noon  that 
she  and  you  would  drive  this  way  to-day.  But  'twas  she 
I  looked  to  find  here." 

"Then  you  must  look  elsewhere,  sir,"  said  Celia  shortly. 
"Lady  de  Putren  has  gone." 

"Gone?    And  left  you  alone?    How  so?" 

"It's  very  like  you  know  the  explanation  better  than  I  do," 
she  answered  angrily.  "When  my  back  was  turned  she 
drove  away  and  left  me  alone." 

Timothy  laughed  softly.  He  crossed  the  clearing  and  sat 
on  the  stone  wall  of  the  well. 

"  'Pon  my  honour,  madam,  I  had  not  expected  this  most 
base  desertion.  I  am  in  like  case.  Rory  vowed  to  meet  me 
here  with  his  curricle  at  four  of  the  clock,  and  here's  no 
sign  of  him.  So  here  are  we  two  marooned  five  miles  from 
Bath,  with  no  help  in  sight.  What  is  to  become  of  us, 
madam  ?" 

Celia  eyed  him  indignantly.  "For  my  part,  I  do 
not  anticipate  that  Lady  de  Putren  will  long  delay  her 
return,  yet  if  she  does  I  —  I  shall  drive  home  with 
Rory." 

"And  leave  me  to  bear  my  fate  alone?  Madam,  you  are 
no  true  comrade  in  misfortune." 


PAN'S  FORTUNE  257 

She  did  not  answer,  but  stood  stiffly  awaiting  his  depar- 
ture. Timothy  smiled  at  her  whimsically. 

"Might  I  propose,  madam,  as  we  may  yet  have  some  time 
to  wait  our  rescue,  that  you  should  sit?" 

Celia  seated  herself  angrily  on  the  further  side  of  the 
wall. 

"I  was  about  to  propose,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  haughtily, 
"that  you  might  conceivably  find  a  seat  elsewhere,  where 
your  presence  would  be  less  irksome  to  me.  The  wood  is 
wide." 

"Faith !  madam,  I  regret  if  the  sight  of  me  disfigures  the 
landscape  for  you,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "Yet  'tis  a 
fault  easily  remedied."  He  crossed  to  her  side  and  leaned 
on  the  wall  behind  her.  "Now,  madam,  if  you  will  turn 
your  head  but  a  little — so — you  will  not  notice  my  pres- 
ence." 

Celia  gave  a  little  gasp  of  amazement  at  his  coolness. 
For  a  moment  her  lips  twitched;  but  she  repressed  her  de- 
sire to  laugh.  She  was  still  very  angry. 

"You  are  amazing  impudent,"  she  said  shortly.  "Why  do 
you  not  respect  my  wishes  and  leave  me?" 

"Ah,  madam,  in  Bath  you  are  queen,  and  we  obey  your 
behests.  But  here  we  have  strayed  into  the  kingdom  of 
Pan,  and  bow  to  his  rule  alone." 

"Then  am  I  to  be  put  to  the  inconvenience  of  awaiting 
Lady  de  Putren  in  the  roadway?"  she  asked  coldly.  Yet 
she  made  no  motion  to  rise  and  leave  him. 

"The  Fates  have  thrown  us  together,  madam,"  he  con- 
tinued gaily,  "at  the  foot  of  Pan's  throne.  What  shall  we 
ask  of  the  god?" 

"I  have  already  asked  you  to  leave  me,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she 
said  haughtily. 


258  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Faith!  madam,  it's  not  of  me  you  must  make  request 
here.  I  am  a  subject  of  Pan  and  can  but  do  his  bidding." 

"That  is  to  be  regretted  since  his  bidding  seemingly  forces 
you  to  such  unmannerly  conduct." 

"Ah,  madam !  don't  flout  the  god  in  the  heart  of  his 
kingdom,  or  who  knows  what  evil  may  come  of  it?  You 
and  I,  madam,  must  speak  him  fair,  and  then,  who  knows? 
We  may  taste  of  'Pan's  fortune.'  Do  you  know  what  is  the 
secret  magic  of  this  well?" 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  white  hands  lay  still  upon  her 
knee;  her  whole  attitude  expressed  rigid  disapproval. 
Timothy  eyed  her  back  with  a  whimsical  shake  of  his  head. 

"At  a  certain  hour,  madam,"  he  continued  slowly,  "none 
know  surely  which,  but  'tis  held  to  be  when  the  sun  steals 
through  the  shade  and  crimsons  the  water  with  his  kisses, 
a  magic  falls  upon  this  spot.  He  who  then  draws  near  to 
taste  of  the  water  forgets  the  past,  thinks  not  upon  the 
future,  but  lives  for  one  short  hour  in  the  glory  of  the 
present,  heeding  naught  besides.  That,  madam,  is  'Pan's 
fortune.'  'Tis  given  to  few  mortals  to  dare  to  taste  its 
sweetness." 

She  turned  her  head  a  little  and  stared  down  at  the  water, 
flushing  in  the  low  rays  of  the  sun. 

"See,  madam,"  he  whispered,  "it  crimsons.  The  hour  has 
come." 

He  passed  behind  her,  and  stepping  down  to  the 
well  stooped  and  drank.  Then  he  took  out  his  gold 
snuff-box,  threw  out  its  contents,  washed  it  out  and 
filled  it  with  clear  water.  He  turned  and  held  it  out  to 
her.  "Drink,  madam,"  he  pleaded.  "Taste  of  'Pan's 
fortune !'  " 

She  took  it  and  laid  it  on  the  wall  beside  her.     "Mr.  Cur- 


PAN'S  FORTUNE  259 

tis,"  she  asked  slowly,  "did  you  plot  with  Lady  de  Putren 
to  trap  me  here  alone?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  little  smile  of  reproach.  "That  is 
the  past,"  he  said  whimsically;  "I  have  drunk  and  forgot- 
ten." 

She  turned  away  with  a  helpless  gesture  of  impatience. 
Tim  picked  up  the  snuff-box  and  handed  it  to  her  again. 

"Do  you  fear  to  drink,  madam?"  he  asked,  smiling  into 
her  eyes.  "Do  you  fear  to  forget  the  past — and  the 
thought  of  the  future?" 

She  rose  and  turned  away.  "Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  un- 
steadily, "you  forget  your  situation  and  mine.  You  for- 
get the  conventions.  Were  you  more  chivalrous  you  would 
take  pity  on  the — the  embarrassment  of  my  position  and 
leave  me  alone.  A  woman — cannot — dare  not — forget  her 
world." 

"Dare  not  ?"  He  put  his  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder  and 
drew  her  back  to  her  seat. 

"You  and  I,  Mistress  Celia,"  he  said  softly,  "are  two  chil- 
dren who  have  lost  our  way  in  a  wood.  The  world  is  that 
wood,  and  we  have  gone  astray  in  it,  and  stand  weeping  be- 
cause our  path  has  grown  so  dark,  and  the  light  of  love  has 
left  us,  and  we  cannot  see  our  way.  And  all  the  time, 
Mistress  Celia,  our  nurse  —  dear  Mother  Nature  —  is 
calling  to  us  to  come  back  to  her  again.  But  we  are 
afraid." 

She  lifted  her  hands  and  clasped  them  beneath  her  chin. 
Her  eyes  widened  with  thought. 

"Yes,"  she  said  slowly.     "We  are  afraid." 

"Because  we  have  wandered  far  into  the  wood,  and  the 
briars  of  convention  bar  our  passage,  and  the  thorns  of 
slander  tear  our  clothes,  and  Mother  Nature's  voice,  bid- 


260  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

ding  us  take  courage,  is  very  faint  and  far  away.  But  let 
us  put  trust  in  one  another.  Let  us  take  hands  and  run 
back  from  the  terror  of  this  wood,  following  the  guidance 
of  our  own  hearts,  and  step  out  again  into  the  sunshine  to 
Mother  Nature's  arms." 

He  took  her  hand  gently ;  she  let  it  lie  in  his.  "Are  you 
still  afraid,  Mistress  Celia?"  he  asked  softly. 

"Ah !"  she  whispered,  "they  told  me  you  had  the  tongue  of 
angels." 

His  face  flushed  with  sudden  anger,  but  he  checked  the 
outburst.  "Madam,  be  careful,  you  are  letting  the  thorns 
of  slander  blind  your  sight,"  he  said  whimsically.  "It  is 
not  my  words  but  your  heart  I  would  have  you  obey.  We 
cannot  win  from  the  wood  alone,  Mistress  Celia;  we  must 
trust  one  another.  Are  you  afraid?" 

She  sat  silent;  he  watched  her  face  with  a  passionate 
eagerness.  Suddenly  she  threw  up  her  head  proudly  and 
turned  to  him  a  face  alight  with  love. 

"No,"  she  said  proudly,  "I  am  not  afraid.  If  I  love  you 
surely  love  may  pardon  even  dishonour." 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  and  looked  her  squarely  in 
the  face.  "No,  madam,  not  so.  Dishonour  would  kill  love. 
If  you  love  me  you  must  trust  me.  I  will  have  naught 
else." 

"You — you  won't  have  my  love?"  she  faltered. 

"I  will  have  your  trust  first." 

Tears  darkened  her  eyes.  She  turned  away.  "I  cannot,  I 
cannot — yet,"  she  cried.  "I  would  so  fain  say  I  do  trust 
you ;  but  it  would  not  be  the  truth.  I  only  know  that  for 
good  or  evil  I  love  you." 

A  shadow  of  disappointment  crossed  his  face.  He 
dropped  her  hands. 


PAN'S  FORTUNE  261 

"So  we  must  still  wander  on  into  the  wood,  madam,"  he 
said  drily,  "seeking  more  courage." 

She  bowed  her  head  with  a  helpless  sob.  He  wavered. 
Then  his  eyes  fell  on  the  snuff-box.  A  queer  smile  crossed 
his  face. 

"You  cannot  forgive  the  past,  you  cannot  trust  the  fu- 
ture," he  said  slowly.  "Mistress  Celia,  have  you  courage 
to  forget  both — for  an  hour?  Dare  you  taste  'Pan's  for- 
tune' and  lose  recollection  of  all  save  the  sweetness  of  the 
present?  Can  you  trust  me  so  far?" 

For  a  long  minute  she  looked  into  his  eyes.  Then  with 
a  little  doubting  laugh  she  raised  the  cup  to  her  lips  and 
drank.  Turning  to  him  she  held  out  her  hands  in  gesture 
of  surrender.  "For  an  hour,"  she  said  softly. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her  and  kissed  her.  Then,  with 
his  arm  still  about  her,  they  sat  down  on  the  wall  together 
and  she  dropped  her  head  back  on  his  shoulder  with  a  sigh 
of  absolute  content. 

So  they  sat  while  the  sun  crimsoned  the  horizon  and  the 
shadows  of  the  trees  grew  longer  and  longer  across  the 
mossy  sward.  They  did  not  talk  much ;  the  song  of  the 
birds  and  the  whisper  of  the  leaves  spoke  all  they  had  to 
say.  Only  they  tasted  to  the  full  the  sweetness  of  Pan's 
magic  and  were  at  peace. 

At  last  Timothy  lifted  up  his  head;  he  heard  the  sound 
of  wheels  far  down  the  road.  He  kissed  her  once  more  and 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"The  hour  has  passed,  Celia,"  he  said,  "and  memories 
return." 

She  looked  up,  and  she,  too,  heard  the  wheels.  She  met 
his  eyes  and  suddenly  flushed  crimson.  "Ah,"  she  cried, 
"what  have  we  been  doing?" 


262  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

He  smiled  at  her  reassuringly.  "Daring  to  dream.  This 
has  been  our  hour,  dear,  and  come  what  may  now,  I,  for  one, 
have  sighted  heaven." 

But  the  look  of  distress  deepened  in  her  eyes. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  "surely  I  have  been  mad,  mad!  I 
forgot  all  —  all  save  — !  What  have  I  done  ?  How 
could  I?" 

"Magic,  Mistress  Celia,"  he  laughed  softly.  "  'Pan's 
fortune.'  " 

She  turned  away  with  her  white  hands  clasped  tightly. 

"What  must  you  think  of  me?"  she  muttered.  "Sure  you 
must  indeed  despise  me  now." 

"No,  no,  dear,"  he  said  quickly.  "Don't  spoil  the 
memory  of  our  hour.  I  think  of  you  now,  as  always,  as 
the  bravest  and  sweetest  among  women ;  one  who  dares  to 
dream  and  yet  whose  dreams  are  pure." 

"And  to-morrow?"  she  asked. 

"In  truth  the  hour  has  passed,"  he  said,  smiling  wistfully, 
"if  the  shadow  of  to-morrow  falls  already  on  our  path. 
Never  fear,  dear,  you  shall  have  no  after  regrets.  Either 
I  will  prove  myself  worthy  the  love  you  have  given  me  or  I 
will  see  you  no  more." 

When  Lucy  de  Putren,  with  a  guilty  face,  hurried  back 
to  the  wood  for  Celia,  she  found  her  alone,  sitting  as  she 
had  left  her,  her  hands  in  her  lap,  gazing  down  at  the  dark 
water.  For  amoment  she  was  disappointed,  and  muttered 
an  exclamation  against  the  folly  of  man.  Then  her  eyes 
rested  upon  a  gold  snuff-box  in  the  girl's  hand,  and  she 
broke  into  a  mischievous  smile. 

"Come,  Celia,  surely  you've  forgiven  my  frolic,"  she  said 
coaxingly.  "Did  you  catch  a  Colin,  eh?" 

Celia  made  no  answer.     She  rose,  and  slipped  her  hand 


PAN'S  FORTUNE  263 

through  her  friend's  arm  and  looked  round  with  a  wistful 
smile. 

"Let  us  go  home,  Lucy.  The  light  is  dying,  and  the  wood 
— the  wood  is  very  lonely  now." 

As  she  drove  homeward  with  her  silent  companion  Lucy 
grimaced  dismally  out  into  the  darkness. 

"A  body  might  expect  a  word  of  confidence — or  grati- 
tude," she  mused.  "But,  oh  dear,  no !  not  one.  'Tis  mon- 
strous dull  playing  the  Fates  to  a  woman." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    CLUE 

MORE  resolute  now  than  ever  to  unmask  the  man  whose 
guilt  he  bore,  Timothy,  as  he  trudged  home  to  Bath,  racked 
his  brains  for  a  clue  to  the  mystery  of  the  stolen  papers. 
But  no  light  came  to  guide  his  search.  He  half  repented 
his  chivalrous  promise  to  Celia  to  redeem  his  parole  should 
he  be  unable  to  prove  his  honesty ;  for  the  week  he  had  de- 
manded expired  on  the  Tuesday  evening ;  only  two  days  re- 
mained to  him  in  which  to  discover  the  spy.  The  difficulty 
of  the  task  appalled  him,  but  he  did  not  lose  hope.  Three 
people  knew  the  secret,  from  one  of  those  three  he  could 
surely  extract  the  truth. 

His  first  thought  was  to  post  to  London,  beard  Lord  Pel- 
ham  and  learn  from  him  the  name  of  the  man  who  served 
him.  But  he  speedily  dismissed  this  plan ;  his  last  inter- 
view with  that  minister,  in  which  he  rejected  the  proffered 
bribe,  had  been  marked  by  so  acrimonious  a  tone  that  he 
was  by  no  means  inclined  to  risk  a  second.  He  shrewdly 
suspected  that  only  his  relationship  to  Lord  Westerby  saved 
him  from  a  more  open  vengeance  than  that  which  Pelham 
had  already  taken.  Nevertheless,  he  abandoned  this  scheme 
with  regret;  he  felt  he  could  have  expressed  himself  very 
forcibly  on  the  subject  of  his  lordship's  conduct.  It  was 
not  to  be  expected  that  Pelham  should  intrust  the  true  name 
of  his  spy  to  Sir  Thomas  Winnington  (that  minister  as 
generally  untrusted  as  he  was  universally  beloved),  but  it 
was  an  action  worthy  of  his  peculiar  genius  to  throw  the 


THE  CLUE  265 

onus  of  the  dishonour  on  the  man  who  had  scorned  him  for 
proposing  that  dishonour. 

From  Lord  Pelham  Timothy  turned  to  the  maid,  Martha, 
debating  the  advisability  of  a  second  appeal  to  her.  But 
he  knew  no  fresh  entreaty  or  threat  to  move  her;  further 
argument  with  her  seemed  waste  of  time. 

There  remained  only  Josiah  Smith.  Timothy  had  already 
once  run  up  against  the  stone  wall  of  his  honour,  his  only 
hope  now  was  to  surprise  the  secret  out  of  him. 

With  this  end  in  view,  he  set  out  early  on  Monday  morn- 
ing in  search  of  Josiah.  He  did  not  know  where  the  man 
lodged,  but  knew  enough  to  feel  sure  that  he  could  exact 
what  information  he  chose  from  Mr.  Cogswell,  that  re- 
doubtable trimmer.  Accordingly,  he  bent  his  steps  toward 
Gay  Street  in  pursuit  of  the  mayor. 

It  was  yet  early  and  the  streets  were  quiet.  Here  and  there 
a  rosy-cheeked  maid  was  scrubbing  steps  and  polishing 
knockers,  while  a  man  whistled  her  a  serenade  from  a 
neighbouring  area.  The  morning  was  hot  and  most  of  the 
windows  were  open,  but  a  fresh  breeze  fluttered  the  curtains 
and  curled  the  dust  in  little  spirals  of  cloud  along  the 
street.  As  Timothy  turned  into  Quiet  Street,  a  sharp  puff 
of  wind  almost  carried  away  his  hat.  At  the  same  moment, 
the  breeze  caught  the  curtain  of  an  upper  window  of  a 
house  a  few  yards  in  front  of  him ;  the  curtain  bellowed  in- 
ward and  then  flew  out  through  the  casement,  sweeping  in 
its  folds  a  sheet  of  paper  which  eddied  a  circle  or  two  in  the 
air  and  then  descended  to  the  ground  at  Timothy's  feet. 

Timothy  stooped  mechanically  to  pick  it  up.  He  looked 
up  at  the  casement  but  no  head  appeared ;  evidently  its  loss 
had  not  been  marked.  He  turned  it  over  to  see  whether  it 
were  of  sufficient  importance  to  justify  his  ringing  at  the 


266  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

bell  and  returning  it  to  the  owner.  It  proved  to  be  a  half- 
finished  letter  in  a  bold  feminine  handwriting. 

"Dear  Myra,"  it  ran,  "I  am  half  crazy  with  fears.  If 
Heaven  send  not  help  by  Monday  night  I  can  endure  no 
more.  A  black-hearted  scoundrel  writes  me 

Here  the  letter  broke  off  abruptly ;  it  would  seem  the  writer 
had  been  interrupted  or  had  no  heart  to  finish  her  corre- 
spondence. There  was  no  explanation,  no  signature — 
only  this  desperate  cry  of  helplessness  from  a  woman's 
breaking  heart. 

Timothy  stared  at  the  letter  and  then  looked  up  again  at 
the  house.  All  was  quiet,  undisturbed.  No  face  appeared 
at  the  casement,  no  voice  broke  the  stillness.  The  street, 
too,  was  deserted,  Timothy  stood  alone  in  the  sunshine  with 
the  letter  in  his  hand. 

He  was  puzzled  what  course  to  pursue.  He  could  not  en- 
dure the  thought  of  handing  in  that  letter  at  the  door  to 
be  inspected  by  prying  eyes  of  maid  and  footman ;  he  would 
not  leave  it  where  it  had  fallen  to  carry  its  story  to  every 
curious  passer-by. 

He  threw  one  more  glance  up  at  the  house.  It  looked  so 
calm,  so  quiet,  so  respectable  with  its  air  of  comfortable 
prosperity,  and  yet  somewhere  behind  those  grey  walls  a 
woman  was  breaking  her  heart  in  fear  lest  help  should  not 
come.  What  manner  of  help,  he  wondered,  did  the  writer 
seek?  Was  it  a  woman's  pity  or  a  man's  sword?  Who  was 
she  to  be  so  void  of  friends  that  even  hope  had  deserted  her  ? 

As  he  passed  the  grey  house  in  Quiet  Street,  suddenly  he 
heard  a  lute  thrummed  somewhere  in  the  upper  story;  the 
contrast  between  this  merry  sound  and  the  heart-broken 
words  of  the  letter  struck  him  afresh  with  pity.  Was  the 
writer  tortured  by  that  merry  tune?  Or  was  she,  in  des- 


THE  CLUE  267 

perate  struggle  to  hide  her  misery,  the  player  beating  out 
the  music  with  trembling  hands  and  aching  heart? 

He  had  affairs  enough  of  his  own  on  hand,  yet  two  days 
remained  to  him  in  which  to  fulfil  them ;  this  woman  had 
but  a  dozen  hours.  "If  Heaven  send  not  help —  What 
help?  The  letter  spoke  of  a  black-hearted  scoundrel;  he 
longed  to  cross  that  scoundrel's  blade. 

It  might  be  that  the  woman  was  young  and  lonely,  with 
no  man  in  all  that  wide  city  of  Bath  in  whom  she  could 
place  her  trust.  It  might  be  she  went  in  fear  of  a  bully 
for  lack  of  a  sword  to  silence  his  threats. 

"If  Heaven  send  not  help — "  And  the  letter  had  fallen 
at  his  feet ! 

Without  pausing  to  map  out  his  course  of  conduct,  acting 
only  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  Timothy  paused  before 
the  grey  house  and  rang  the  bell.  The  maid  who  opened 
the  door  betrayed  no  surprise  at  seeing  him,  but  in  response 
to  his  request  to  see  her  mistress  ushered  him  at  once  up- 
stairs into  the  very  room  from  the  window  of  which  the 
letter  had  fallen. 

Once  in  the  house  a  sudden  embarrassment  fell  upon  him, 
he  had  not  a  notion  how  to  proceed  with  his  undertaking. 
He  was  conscious  of  a  certain  impertinence  in  his  presence 
there  at  all. 

"If  she  deny  her  confidence,"  he  muttered,  "it  will  be, 
bedad,  awkward.  I  can  but  crave  pardon  and  retire." 

The  music  of  the  lute  stopped  suddenly  and  there  was  a 
short  silence.  Then  a  skirt  rustled  along  the  corridor,  the 
door  opened,  and  Delia  Leslie  entered  the  room. 

It  was  impossible  for  any  one  living  in  Bath  not  to  have 
heard  of  this  woman's  doings;  and  Timothy  was  no  ex- 
ception. 


268  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

As  she  advanced  to  meet  him  with  smiling  lips  and  the 
coquettish  glance  the  woman  in  her  could  not  restrain,  he 
noticed  that  dark  rings  were  round  her  eyes,  and  her  smile 
was  hard  and  forced.  Assuredly,  she  was  in  trouble. 

He  drew  out  the  letter  and  handed  it  to  her.  "I  have 
come  to  restore  your  property,  madam." 

She  snatched  the  paper  eagerly  and  glanced  at  it,  then  a 
look  of  bitter  disappointment  crossed  her  face.  She  gave 
a  quick  sigh,  crumpled  it  in  her  hand  and  tossed  it  into 
the  grate. 

"Is  that  all—  ?"  she  muttered.  "I  had  hoped—"  She 
stopped  and  eyed  him  curiously.  "Where  did  you  find  it, 
sir?" 

"It  fell  from  the  window  at  my  feet,  Mrs.  Leslie.  I 
thought  it  best  to  return  it  to  you  in  person." 

She  nodded.  "Thank  you,"  she  said  absently;  "I  am 
vastly  obleeged." 

She  stood  waiting  for  him  to  take  his  leave.  Something 
in  the  despondency  of  her  attitude  gave  him  fresh 
courage. 

"Madam,  I  read  your  letter,"  he  said  simply,  "and  I 
have  a  sword.  If  you  require  help,  I  beg  you  hold  me  at 
your  service ;  if  not,  I  take  my  leave." 

She  lifted  her  head  slowly  and  faced  him. 

"You  would  help  me  ?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"I  am  here  to  put  myself  at  your  commands." 

"But  why?    Why?"  she  murmured  amazedly. 

"The  letter  fell  at  my  feet,"  he  said  simply;  "I  learned 
you  had  need  of  help." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath  and  looked  at  him  curiously. 
"We — we  have  never  been  much  acquainted,  Mr.  Curtis." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  the  matter,  madam?     I  hold 


THE  CLUE  269 

that  a  gentleman's  sword  should  always  be  at  the  service 
of  a  woman  in  distress." 

"And  you  have  come  here  to  offer  your  help  without 
reservation — without  condition?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"If  you  will  honour  me  by  accepting  it." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears.  "I  don't  under- 
stand," she  said  softly,  "but  Heaven  knows  I  need  the 
help  you  offer.  I  have  sought  Bath  for  such  a  man  as 
you,  and  failed  to  find  him.  There  were  always — 
conditions." 

"Surely  not,  madam,"  he  said  gravely.  "Sir  Victor  Poin- 
son?" 

Her  face  softened.  "Ah!  he  indeed  were  different.  But 
I  could  not  tell  him  my  trouble."  She  paused,  and  then 
continued  quickly.  "  'Tis  a  case  of  blackmail,  Mr.  Curtis. 
Ah !  I've  been  crazy.  'Madcap  Delia  Leslie,'  they  call  me, 
and  I  live  up  to  my  reputation.  But  this  affair  was  so 
long  ago,  when  Mr.  Leslie  lived.  I — I  was  wed  at  sixteen, 
Mr.  Curtis ;  do  not  blame  me.  I  could  not  love  my  husband. 
He — my  lover — he  was  an  adventurer  and  abused  my  youth. 
Then  he  held  my  letters  over  me  and  lived  on  my  bounty 
till  death  took  him.  I  could  not  trace  the  letters,  but  heard 
no  more  of  them  and  hoped  the  affair  was  dead.  And  then 
— the  very  day  after  I  am  affianced  to  Sir  Victor — these 
letters  come  again  to  haunt  me." 

"Who  holds  them,  madam  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.  The  man  writes  from  the  'Cock  and  Bull' 
tavern.  He  threatens  that  if  I  fail  to  meet  him  to-night 
at  nine  o'  the  clock  with  300  guineas,  he  will  expose  me. 
But  I  have  not  a  half  the  sum.  I  have  lost  so  heavily  at 
whist  of  late,  and  I  knew  not  how  to  raise  it  alone.  I  was 
writing  as  you  see  to  Lady  Martin,  but  she  is  ill,  and  fur- 


270  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

ther,  how  could  a  woman  assist?     But  if  you  will  help  me, 
perhaps  you  could  go  to  the  Jews — and ' 

"Nonsense,  madam,"  laughed  Tim ;  "that's  no  way  to  meet 
blackmail.  If  you  pay  once  he  will  sponge  you  dry.  A 
horsewhip  is  what  this  scoundrel  deserves." 

"Ah !  no,  I  dare  not  risk  refusal.  I  could  not  endure  that 
Victor  should  see  my  letters  as  he  threatens." 

"Never  fear.  He  won't  carry  out  that  threat.  'Twoukl 
ipoil  his  market." 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  don't  understand,  Mr.  Cur- 
tis !  'Tis  not  to  Victor  he  would  take  the  letters.  If  I  pay 
not  he  will  find  a  ready  market  elsewhere.  I  —  I  have 
enemies,  sir,  and  many  would  gladly  pay  the  sum  to  ruin 
me  with  Victor." 

Tim  nodded  thoughtfully.  "I  see.  The  rascal  must  be 
silenced.  But  not  with  gold.  Leave  me  to  deal  with  him. 
I'll  keep  your  appointment " 

"You  cannot.  He  writes  that  I  must  go  myself  and  alone 
to  the  tavern  with  the  full  amount  of  money  and  show  his 
letter  as  token.  If  I  fail  to  fulfil  these  conditions  my  let- 
ters will  be  offered  elsewhere.  Ah!  what  can  I  do?" 

Timothy  stood  a  moment,  silent.    Then  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"Look  you,  Mrs.  Leslie,  we  are  of  an  even  height.  Have 
you  a  long  cloak  and  hood  to  spare  me?  I'll  play  the 
woman  and  beard  the  fellow  in  your  stead.  Never  fear,  but 
I  will  silence  him  by  force  or  guile." 

She  gave  a  cry  of  excitement.  "You  would  do  that? 
Will  it  be  possible,  Mr.  Curtis?" 

"Why  not?  'Twill  be  dark,  and  there  should  be  no  need 
to  speak  till  I  am  closeted  with  the  scoundrel.  Give  me  his 
letter,  madam." 

She  drew  it  from  her  pocket  and  handed  it  to  him.     He 


THE  CLUE  271 

glanced  at  it  and  muttered  an  oath  of  astonishment ;  the 
handwriting  was  identical  with  that  of  the  note  which  had 
warned  him  of  the  plan  to  kidnap  him. 

He  stared  down  at  it  in  puzzled  bewilderment.  Who  was 
the  writer?  Adelaide,  Dorothy,  Celia? — all  his  former  con- 
jectures were  proved  unfounded,  they  were  not  the  women 
to  stoop  to  blackmail ;  yet,  if  not  one  of  these,  who  else  had 
learned  the  conspirators'  plans  and  what  was  their  object 
in  warning  him?  His  heart  beat  eagerly.  Surely  if  he 
learned  the  key  to  this  mystery  he  might  find  some  clue  to 
the  traitor  he  sought  to  unmask.  It  was  a  hope,  slight, 
elusive,  but  yet  one  clear  chance  to  cling  to  in  the  vague 
tangle  of  his  suspicions. 

Delia  Leslie  watched  his  face  wonderingly.  What  is  it, 
Mr.  Curtis?"  she  asked  curiously. 

He  laughed.  "Madam,  you  bring  me  luck.  It  seems  that 
in  tracking  your  hare  I  cross  a  quarry  of  my  own ;  I  also 
have  affairs  with  the  writer  of  this  letter." 

"You  know  him?" 

"Not  yet,  madam.  I  trust  we  shall  become  better 
acquainted  at  nine  o'clock  to-night.  And  now  the 
cloak." 

"You  cannot  carry  it  through  the  streets  now ;  I  will  send 
it  to  your  lodging  later." 

"So  be  it.  I'll  delay  you  no  longer  now.  Rest  assured, 
madam,  your  anxiety  is  over,  and  you  shall  have  your  let- 
ters to-night." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said 
softly,  "it  is  difficult  for  a  woman  to  thank  a  man." 

Timothy  blushed  with  embarrassment.  "There's  no  need, 
madam;  the  bearding  of  a  scoundrel  is  matter  of  vast  en- 
joyment. So  in  this  I  serve  myself." 


272  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"And — you  will  not  think  too  hardly  of  me  in  the  future," 
she  pleaded. 

"Good  Heavens !  madam,"  he  cried  desperately,  "who 
made  me  a  judge  over  women?" 

She  sighed.  "Ah!  Mr.  Curtis,  a  guilty  conscience  is  apt 
to  see  judgment  in  every  eye.  I  fear " 

"Then  you  do  wrong,"  he  interrupted;  "let  the  past  go, 
madam.  Henceforth  you  will  be  accountable  only  to  Vic- 
tor Poinson." 

Her  face  grew  softer.  "Believe  me,  Mr.  Curtis,  I'll  prove 
a  loyal  wife  to  him." 

"There's  not  a  doubt  of  it,  madam,"  he  answered  gaily, 
and  took  his  departure,  eager  to  end  an  interview  that  grew 
embarrassing. 

The  hours  dragged  on  for  him  until  evening  came.  He 
passed  the  time  in  an  unavailing  search  for  Josiah  Smith, 
but  all  his  hopes  now  were  bent  on  the  interview  before  him, 
it  seemed  so  likely  that  the  man  who  knew  the  conspirators' 
plans  and  had  cared  to  warn  him  was  none  other  than  the 
man  he  sought. 

When  nine  o'clock  came  he  donned  his  woman's  cloak  and 
hood  and  slipped  quietly  down  Peter's  Wynd  to  the  "Cock 
and  Bull"  tavern.  He  carried  sword  and  pistol  beneath  his 
cloak,  for  he  judged  the  tavern  no  safe  place  for  him 
should  his  identity  be  discovered.  His  nerve  had  recovered 
from  the  fears  his  capture  had  awakened,  and  the  spirit  of 
adventure  was  strong  upon  him  when  he  pushed  open  the 
door  of  the  tavern  and  entered  with  the  mincing  step  and 
furtive  air  he  judged  suited  to  the  part  he  played.  His 
hood  fell  far  over  his  face  and  he  held  his  handkerchief  to 
his  lips  further  to  conceal  his  features. 

The  front  bar  of  the  tavern  was  empty  save  for  an  elderly 


THE  CLUE  273 

woman  who  sat  knitting  busily  by  the  dim  light  of  a  rush 
candle.  She  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  for  a  moment 
Timothy  thought  she  penetrated  his  disguise,  but  if  she 
did  she  made  no  sign.  She  glanced  at  the  letter  held  out  to 
her  as  a  token  of  his  errand,  and  with  a  nod  motioned  him 
to  follow  her  up  the  stairs. 

Kis  eyes  gleaming  with  eagerness,  his  feet  stumbling  per- 
petually over  the  long  skirts  of  his  cloak,  Timothy  obeyed 
her  gesture.  She  lighted  him  up  to  the  narrow  cupboard 
staircase  and  down  a  short  passage  to  a  small  room  at  the 
back  of  the  tavern,  where  a  dim  oil  lamp  burned  on  the 
table.  The  room  was  poorly  furnished;  the  low  half -shut- 
tered window  looked  into  a  narrow  yard. 

"Wait  here,"  said  the  woman  curtly.  She  shut  the  door 
behind  her  and  walked  away. 

Timothy  waited  for  five  minutes.  His  heart  beat  uncom- 
fortably quickly.  He  felt  under  his  cloak  for  his  pistol 
and  loosened  his  sword  in  its  sheath.  If  the  old  woman 
had  by  any  chance  recognised  him,  he  was  trapped  indeed, 
and  was  likely  to  have  need  of  all  his  wits  and  his  sword- 
play  to  effect  escape. 

At  last  he  heard  a  step  approaching  the  door  and  the  tap 
of  a  woman's  heels.  He  pulled  the  hood  closer  round  his 
face  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  light,  awaiting  her 
entrance.  The  door  opened  and  Martha  Williams  appeared 
on  the  threshold. 

Timothy  made  no  motion  of  surprise ;  he  stood  with  bowed 
head  waiting  for  her  to  open  the  attack. 

Martha  eyed  him  superciliously  and  laughed.  Then  she 
shut  the  door  and,  flinging  herself  into  a  chair,  said,  with 
a  ludicrous  attempt  at  haughty  insolence. 

"So,  mistress,  you've  come.     It's  to  be  hoped  you  have 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

the  gold  with  you,  or  you  are  like  to  have  your  journey  in 
vain.  If  you  haggle  over  the  price,  there  are  others  who 
will  pay  it,  I'll  warrant." 

Timothy,  curbing  his  stride,  crossed  to  her  side  and  flung 
himself  at  her  feet  in  an  attitude  of  supplication.  His  eyes 
twinkled  beneath  the  dark  shadow  of  his  hood.  He  laid  his 
right  hand  as  it  were  pleadingly  on  both  hers,  and  sud- 
denly flung  up  his  left  arm  and  pressed  his  fingers  tightly 
across  her  lips. 

"So,  my  pretty,"  he  said,  shaking  back  his  hood,  "it's 
blackmail  this  time,  is  it?" 

The  girl  stared  at  him,  her  eyes  wide  with  fear  and 
astonishment.  For  a  minute  Timothy  held  her  rigid, 
then  he  cautiously  moved  his  hand  from  her  mouth,  hold- 
ing himself  in  readiness  to  prevent  any  attempt  to 
scream. 

"Well,  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?"  he  asked 
blithely.  "Say  it  softly,  my  dear,  or  I  may  be  driven  to 
hurt  you." 

"What  do  you  want,  Mr.  Curtis?"  she  gasped. 

He  eyed  her  sternly.  "I'm  here  for  Mrs.  Leslie,  whom  'tis 
plain  you  expected.  You  must  give  up  the  letters  of  hers 
you  hold." 

"Have  you  the  money?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"There  will  be  no  question  of  money,  my  dear,"  he  an- 
swered coolly. 

"Then  you  won't  get  the  letters,"  she  responded  sharply. 
"They  are  worth  300  guineas  to  Mistress  Leslie,  I'll  war- 
rant." 

"They  will  be  worth  nothing  at  all  to  you  in  gaol,"  he 
said  menacingly. 

She  laughed.     "You  can't  gaol  me,  Mr.  Curtis;  I  know 


THE  CLUE  275 

that  now.  Mistress  Leslie  will  not  have  the  affair  pub- 
lished." 

"Peste!  You  baggage!"  he  muttered.  "You  know  more 
than  I  bargained."  He  drew  a  bow  at  a  venture.  "There's 
more  than  one  indictment  against  you,  my  dear.  When 
did  you  steal  Mrs.  Leslie's  letters?" 

"I  never  stole  'em.  That  Tom  Hunter  lodged  with  my 
aunt,  and  when  he  died  she  took  his  boxes  to  pay  his  account. 
She  gave  me  these  letters ;  she  didn't  know  what  to  do  with 
them.  But  I  never  used  them,  Mr.  Curtis,  till  I " 

"Till  you  learned  their  value,  eh  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  she  answered  angrily,  "till  I  needed  the  money. 
Tell  Mistress  Leslie  to  pay  my  price  and  I'll  give  up  the 
letters." 

Tim  was  nonplussed.  He  made  a  second  attempt  to 
terrorise  her.  "I  can  have  you  gaoled  for  robbing  Lady 
Wimbourne  if  you  won't  be  reasonable,"  he  threatened. 

Again  she  laughed  scornfully.  "Not  you.  Miss  Win- 
nington  promised  I  should  go  free  if  I  told  the  truth." 

"And  you  lied  like  a  trooper,"  he  said  angrily. 

"Maybe,"  she  laughed,  "but  Miss  Winnington  doesn't 
know  it." 

Timothy's  fingers  itched  to  shake  the  girl,  but  he  kept  his 
temper  with  difficulty.  He  was  resolved  to  gain  possession 
of  Mrs.  Leslie's  letters  at  all  costs,  but  he  wished  also  to 
learn  the  name  of  the  man  the  girl  shielded ;  he  feared  that 
forcible  measures  which  might  possibly  gain  him  the  letters 
would  destroy  all  hope  of  success  in  his  second  undertaking. 
Moreover,  he  wished,  if  possible,  to  avoid  the  hateful  neces- 
sity of  maltreating  a  woman.  He  played  his  last  card. 

"There's  one  other  matter,  child,  in  which  it  seems  your 
pretty  fingers  have  meddled,"  he  said  slowly.  "How  did 


276 

you  learn  my  life  was  in  danger  when  you  wrote  to  warn 
me,  eh?" 

Her  face  blanched  suddenly.  "I  never  wrote  to  you,"  she 
muttered. 

"Lies  are  of  small  service,  my  dear,  when  the  handwriting 
tallies,"  he  said  coolly,  tapping  her  letter  to  Mrs.  Leslie. 
"You  wrote  to  me — I  wish  to  know  at  whose  dictation." 

"I'll  not  tell  you,"  she  said  shortly,  eyeing  him  furtively. 

"Ah!  but  you  shall,  girl,"  he  said,  grasping  her  wrist 
tightly.  "Was  it  the  same  man  who  taught  you  to  rob 
your  mistress?" 

She  winced  under  his  grasp  and  set  her  little  mouth  obsti- 
nately. "I'll  tell  you  nothing.  He  saved  your  life." 

"Hum !  We  will  say  he  did  his  best.  But  there  are  some, 
Martha,  who  would  owe  him  no  gratitude  for  that.  Some 
who,  if  they  knew  what  he  had  done,  would  make  the  con- 
sequences to  him  demmed  unpleasant,  my  dear." 

She  started.  They  were  the  very  words  Rory  had  used 
when  he  warned  her  to  keep  the  matter  secret.  A  look  of 
fear  crept  into  her  eyes.  Timothy  noted  it,  and  drove  home 
the  thrust. 

"You  won't  tell  me  his  name,  eh  ?  Well,  I  warrant  there 
are  others  who  would  have  small  difficulty  in  guessing  it  if 
they  knew  you  were  his  mouthpiece.  Shall  I  tell  them  what 
I  know,  Martha?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  frightened  eyes.  She  could  not 
tell  how  much  he  knew,  nor  how  much  those  other  men  of 
whom  Rory  had  warned  her  would  guess,  did  they  know 
her  the  accomplice.  The  whole  affair  was  a  mystery  to  her ; 
she  only  knew  that  Rory  had  bidden  her  keep  secret  at  all 
costs  the  fact  that  she  had  written  the  letter  of  warning  to 
Mr.  Curtis. 


THE  CLUE  277 

Timothy  watched  her  frightened  face  with  rising  hopes. 

"Am  I  to  tell  them — Sir  Tracy,  Lord  Robert  Dacre,  and 
the  rest — that  it  was  you  who  spoiled  their  plan,  eh?"  he 
asked. 

She  shook  her  head.    "No,"  she  muttered. 

"Then  you  must  be  reasonable,  my  dear,  and  tell  me  this 
man's  name,"  he  argued. 

A  look  of  suspicion  crossed  her  face.  "I'll  not.  You 
would  use  it  against  him." 

"What !    When  he  saved  my  life?" 

She  nodded.     "You  would.     I'll  tell  you  nothing." 

"Very  well,  then  I  tell  Sir  Tracy  what  I  know,"  he  said, 
turning  toward  the  door. 

She  caught  his  hand.  "No,  no,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  cried, 
"not  that." 

"Then  will  you  be  reasonable  ?" 

She  hesitated.  "I — I'll  never  tell  you  his  name,"  she 
muttered,  "but — if  you  will  keep  close  about  my  warning 
you,  I — I'll  give  you  Mrs.  Leslie's  letters  for — £100." 

Timothy  laughed.  "For  nothing,  Martha.  They  are 
useless  to  you.  Who  would  believe  in  forged  letters  offered 
for  sale  by  a  proved  spy?  You  will  give  them  to  me  for 
nothing." 

"You — you're  very  hard,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  sobbed. 

"Egad!  my  dear,  not  near  so  hard  as  you  deserve,"  he 
answered  coolly.  "Am  I  to  have  those  letters  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  furtively,  measuring  his  resolution. 
Then  she  gave  a  sigh  of  helplessness.  "Yes,  you  shall  have 
them,  if  you  will  give  me  your  word  you  will  not  ask  me 
again  to  tell  on  the  man  who  made  me  write  to  you." 

Timothy  hesitated.  If  he  gave  his  word  it  would  close 
one  channel  to  the  truth  he  sought,  for  it  seemed  clear  that 


278  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

the  spy  was  the  same  man  as  the  dictator  of  her  letter  to 
himself.  On  the  other  hand,  his  hold  on  the  girl  was  very 
slight,  it  was  a  pure  game  of  bluff  that  he  played;  if  he 
left  her  now  he  would  lose  all  chance  of  gaining  Mrs. 
Leslie's  letters.  He  had  taken  her  service  upon  him;  her 
claims  must  come  first. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "it  is  a  fair  bargain.  I  leave  you 
alone  for  the  future  if  you  give  me  those  letters." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Martha  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 
Then  she  put  her  hand  inside  her  bodice  and  drew  from  her 
under-pocket  two  packets  of  letters.  She  held  them  from 
him. 

"You've  given  me  your  word,  Mr.  Curtis?" 

"I  have ;  do  you  trust  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said  simply,  "I  trust  you." 

She  handed  him  the  letters.  He  looked  at  them  carefully ; 
they  were  in  Mrs.  Leslie's  handwriting,  but  signed  by  some 
love  name.  "Are  these  all,  girl?"  he  asked  sternly;  "re- 
member, if  you  play  me  false  I  have  still  power  to  break 
my  word." 

She  nodded.  "You  have  them  all.  You — you  might  give 
me  something  for  them,  Mr.  Curtis." 

He  laughed  and  pocketed  them.  "Were  they  your  dowry, 
eh?  Well,  here  are  three  guineas  and  a  deal  more  than 
they  are  worth." 

She  took  the  money  eagerly,  seemingly  content  with  her 
bargain. 

"You  have  my  word  not  to  trouble  you  further,  Martha," 
continued  Tim,  "but  if  ever  you  have  a  mind  to  tell  me 
who  made  you  write  that  letter  to  me,  'tis  information  for 
which  I  would  pay  you  handsomely." 

She  shook  her  head.    "I  will  never  tell  you,  he " 


THE  CLUE  279 

She  stopped  suddenly  and  lifted  her  head  to  listen,  her 
face  alight  with  eagerness.  A  step  was  approaching  the 
door. 

Tim  turned  quickly.  "  'Twill  be  the  fellow  himself,"  he 
muttered. 

The  door  opened  and  Rory  Winnington  appeared. 

He  looked  from  Martha  to  Timothy  with  a  sharp,  ques- 
tioning glance,  then  he  broke  into  his  familiar  low,  mock- 
ing laugh. 

"Tim,  Tim,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  reproachfully, 
"you  are  poaching.  This  little  piece  of  pink  and  white  is 
my  preserve." 

Tim  did  not  answer.  He  stared  at  the  girl,  who  stood  gaz- 
ing on  Rory  with  a  look  of  adoration  in  her  blue  eyes. 
Rory  crossed  to  her  side  and  patted  her  cheek. 

"She's  a  liberal  little  lady,  Tim,"  he  said,  laughing;  "and 
a  man  does  well  to  keep  his  hand  and  eyes  on  such,  eh?" 

Tim  faced  him  squarely,  a  strange  suspicion  was  growing 
in  his  mind.  "I'm  here  on  business,"  he  said  shortly. 
"I'm  here  to  ask  this  girl  who  dictated  the  letter  she  wrote 
warning  me  of  Stavely's  plot  to  kidnap  me." 

"Ah !"  said  Rory  with  interest,  "and  has  she  told  you  ?" 

"No — no,"  said  the  girl  quickly,  "I  never " 

Rory  held  up  his  hand,  smiling.  "Don't  talk  so  fast,  my 
pretty,  'tis  wearisome.  Why  do  you  want  the  information, 
Tim?" 

"Because  I  hold  it  will  give  me  the  clue  to  the  spy  whose 
guilt  I  bear." 

Rory  laughed.  "The  wrong  scent  again,  Tim.  I  dic- 
tated the  letter." 

"You?"  said  Tim  slowly. 

Rory  watched  him  closely.     "Yes,  I.     You  look  plaguy 


280  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

surprised,  Tim.  It's  not  the  only  time  I've  wasted  to  save 
you  from  the  consequences  of  your — er — inquisitiveness." 

"No,"  said  Tim  significantly,  "it  is  not." 

Suddenly  Rory's  manner  changed.  "Faith,  Tim!"  he 
cried  quickly,  "what  the  mischief  are  you  doing  here  at  all  ? 
Haven't  you  yet  learned  what  a  plaguy  unwholesome  spot 
this  is  for  you  ?  Why,  good  Heavens !  You  will  have  all  of 
them  down  on  you  in  ten  minutes.  And  I  warn  you  if  they 
get  their  hands  on  you  again  there'll  be  no  second  oppor- 
tunity for  cat-walking  on  the  tiles.  They  will  shovel  you 
out  of  the  world  without  waiting  for  a  parson  to  smooth 
your  passage." 

Tim's  hand  rested  on  his  sword.  "I  know,"  he  said 
calmly.  "I'll  not  be  trapped  again.  I  am  going  in  a  min- 
ute  " 

"In  a  minute?"  Rory  shook  his  head.  "You'll  go  now, 
Tim,  if  you  want  to  get  out,  and  lucky  you'll  be  to  escape. 
Did  Rigby  see  you  come  in?  He's  marking  you." 

"He  wouldn't  know  me  if  he  did,"  said  Tim,  picking  up 
his  cloak.  "I  came  cloaked  and  hooded  like  a  wandering 
beauty." 

Rory  burst  out  laughing.  "Faith,  Tim,  you  go  the  pace ! 
But  that  won't  serve  you  with  the  others ;  you  stride  like  a 
drunken  ostrich.  Come  on  with  me,  I'll  take  you  out."  He 
slipped  his  arm  through  Tim's  and  pulled  him  toward  the 
door.  Tim  hung  back. 

"Wait,"  he  said  quickly ;  "I  want  to  know — 

"Whatever  it  be  you  must  wait  till  to-morrow  to  ask  it," 
cried  Rory  impatiently,  "or  I  warn  you,  you'll  soon  know 
what  all  the  philosophers  on  earth  are  seeking  to  discover. 
Come  on,  man.  Is  Rigby  below,  Martha?" 

"No ;  there's  no  one  there  but  the  old  missus." 


THE  CLUE  281 

Half  unwillingly  Tim  yielded  to  Rory's  insistence  and 
allowed  himself  to  be  hurried  downstairs.  The  house 
sounded  strangely  empty  and  deserted.  At  the  door  of  the 
tavern  Rory  peered  out  into  the  silent  street  and  nodded 
reassuringly. 

"The  way  is  clear.  Now  be  off  with  you,  Tim,  and  don't 
put  your  inquisitive  nose  in  here  again.  I'm  devilish  tired 
of  playing  the  nursemaid  to  you." 

With  a  laugh  Rory  went  back  into  the  tavern  and  Tim 
walked  slowly  away  down  the  street,  thinking  deeply  over 
what  had  passed.  He  had  gone  a  few  yards  when  he  saw 
a  man  approaching  through  the  gloom  of  the  dimly  lit 
alley.  With  a  new-born  prudence  he  stepped  back  into  the 
shadow  of  a  doorway,  and  waited  till  he  should  pass.  The 
man  came  within  a  few  feet  of  his  hiding-place  and  then 
paused  beneath  a  hanging  lamp  to  study  a  paper  he  held 
in  his  hand.  The  light  fell  upon  his  features  and  Tim 
recognised  Josiah  Smith. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  hurry  forward  and  accost  the 
man  whom  he  had  sought  all  day,  but  on  second  thoughts 
he  drew  back  into  the  shadow  and  waited.  The  study  of 
the  paper,  the  furtive  walk,  suggested  an  appointed  meet- 
ing in  the  neighbourhood;  Tim  had  a  mind  to  learn  with 
whom  Pelham's  agent  sought  secret  interview.  It  might 
be  that  here  lay  the  clue  he  sought.  He  resolved  to  spy 
upon  the  spy. 

Josiah  passed  along  without  noticing  the  lurking  figure 
in  the  doorway ;  he  was  intent  upon  studying  the  fronts  of 
the  houses.  At  the  door  of  the  "Cock  and  Bull"  tavern  he 
paused,  peered  up  at  the  sign,  dimly  lighted  by  the  hang- 
ing oil  lamp,  then  entering  quickly  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 


282  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Timothy  stepped  out  of  his  concealment,  his  heart  beat- 
ing with  excitement,  suspicion  deepening  in  his  mind.  He 
stared  up  at  the  tavern.  All  the  front  windows  were  dark 
with  the  exception  of  the  bar,  and  that,  he  could  see,  was 
empty.  He  turned  down  the  passage  at  the  side  of  the  inn 
and  walked  round  to  the  back.  A  lamp  still  burned  in  the 
room  he  had  just  quitted;  he  saw  a  girl's  figure  outlined 
against  the  light.  Presently  she  stepped  to  the  window  and 
leaning  her  elbows  on  the  lower  half  of  the  shutters  stared 
out  into  the  darkness.  He  could  not  see  her  face,  but  he 
guessed  it  to  be  Martha  and  from  her  attitude  he  concluded 
she  was  alone. 

He  went  back  down  the  side  of  the  tavern  and  now  a  light 
appeared  in  an  upper  window  looking  on  to  the  alley;  in 
all  probability  it  was  here  that  the  interview  was  to  be  held. 

A  water-butt  stood  at  the  corner,  and  a  gutter  ran  from 
it  along  the  wall  some  way  below  the  lighted  window.  Tim- 
othy marked  it.  He  scrambled  up  the  butt,  grasped  the 
sill  of  a  window  above  it,  reached  out  to  the  shutter  of  the 
next  window  and  steadying  himself  by  this  crept  along  the 
gutter,  face  to  the  wall,  till  he  was  on  a  level  with  the  lighted 
casement.  Cautiously  he  lifted  his  head  and  peered  into 
the  room. 

The  window  was  open  and  uncurtained;  a  high-backed 
settle  obscured  his  view  of  the  occupants  of  the  apartment, 
but  he  could  see  their  shadows  thrown  upon  the  opposite 
wall.  He  was  able  to  distinguish  Josiah,  who  stood  lean- 
ing on  a  table;  the  other  figure  was  evidently  sprawling 
back  in  a  chair,  his  blurred  shadow  upon  the  wall  was  un- 
recognisable. 

Josiah  was  speaking  when  Tim  reached  the  window. 

"The  arms  are  hidden  in  Madame  Grieve's  house,  behind 


THE  CLUE  283 

the  wainscot  in  the  upper  room?  This  is  most  valuable  in- 
formation, sir.  We  will  have  a  raid  on  the  place  to-night.  I 
am  to  understand  you  will  convey  to  his  lordship  the  names 
of  those  concerned  in  the  conspiracy  in  a  few  days  when  the 
list  is  complete?" 

The  second  shadow  nodded;  he  was  evidently  occupied  in 
lighting  his  pipe.  Tim  muttered  an  oath  of  impatience. 
At  any  moment  he  might  be  observed  from  the  street  or 
from  a  neighbouring  window;  he  could  not  long  hope  to 
maintain  his  post  of  observation.  Yet  until  Josiah's  com- 
panion moved  from  behind  the  settle,  or  spoke,  he  had  no 
means  of  ascertaining  his  identity.  Josiah  spoke  again. 

"I  am  directed  by  his  lordship  to  give  you  this,  sir,"  he 
said.  A  purse  was  handed  across  the  table  and  pocketed  in 
silence  by  the  man  in  the  chair.  Josiah  drew  a  letter  from 
his  pocket. 

"Concerning  the  other  matter  about  which  you  wrote  me, 
sir,"  he  continued,  "I  do  not  think  his  lordship  has  any 
third  agent  here  in  his  employ.  The  letters  you  mention, 
if  indeed  stolen,  have  been  taken  by  some  one  working  inde- 
pendently. But  for  Mr.  Curtis,  I  can  assure  you  he  has 
no  hand  in  this  affair.  The  matter  was  broached  to  him 
by  Lord  Pelham,  and  I  understand  he  rejected  the  offer  in 
the  most — er — the  most  offensive  terms." 

Then  at  last  the  second  shadow  drew  his  pipe  from  his 
lips.    A  low  laugh  of  amusement  broke  the  silence. 

"Egad!"  he  said,  "I'd  have  given  a  fortune  to  hear  the 
interview  between  the  foolish  knave  and  the  honest  fool. 
Curtis  has  a  rare  tongue." 

Even  as  the  words  were  spoken  a  sharp,  rending  sound 
echoed  down  the  alley ;  the  gutter  on  which  Timothy  stood 
gave  way  beneath  his  weight,  and  he  jumped  backward  just 


284  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

in  time  to  escape  a  fall.    He  landed  on  his  feet  and  turning 
away  ran  up  the  alley  under  cover  of  the  darkness. 

He  heard  an  exclamation  from  the  window  above,  but  he 
did  not  look  round.  He  had  learned  enough.  The  laugh, 
the  voice  were  unmistakable.  Lord  Pelham's  spy  was  none 
other  than  Rory  Winnington. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY 

AFTER  his  first  fierce  rage  at  the  black  treachery  of  the  man, 
Timothy  found  his  anger  against  Rory  evaporating.  It 
seemed  impossible  to  urge  against  this  lovable  vagabond 
the  stern  judgment  merited  by  any  man  less  openly  unprin- 
cipled and  reckless.  Moreover,  Rory  had  persistently  urged 
his  assurance  of  the  other's  innocence,  and  had  twice  risked 
his  life  to  save  him.  Had  there  been  only  himself  to  con- 
sider, Timothy  would  have  been  almost  persuaded  to  conceal 
the  secret  he  had  discovered  and  leave  Rory  to  the  judgment 
of  his  own  conscience. 

But  his  share  in  the  affair  was  the  least  consideration. 
After  what  had  passed  he  owed  it  to  Celia  Winnington  to 
prove  his  honesty  at  all  costs ;  it  would  surely  be  chivalry 
run  mad  deliberately  to  take  on  his  own  shoulders  the  guilt 
of  another  man,  even  though  that  man  were  her  brother. 
He  must  unmask  the  traitor  to  the  Jacobites,  but  he  hoped 
it  might  yet  prove  possible  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  Rory's 
guilt  from  his  sisters. 

The  fate  of  the  conspirators  lay  in  his  hands  at  last.  He 
alone  knew  of  the  dangers  that  threatened  them,  the  pro- 
posed raid  on  Madame  Grieve's  house,  and  the  betrayal  that 
hung  over  their  heads. 

Timothy  was  human.  For  ten  days  these  men  had  treated 
him  with  contumely,  had  plotted  against  his  liberty,  threat- 
ened his  life;  there  lurked  a  certain  whimsical  humour  in 
the  thought  that  it  was  to  him  the  Fates  had  intrusted  the 


286 

saving  of  their  necks.  Timothy  undoubtedly  found  much 
consolation  in  the  possession  of  this  eminently  satisfactory 
vengeance. 

He  realised  that  he  had  no  time  to  lose  if  he  would  warn 
the  Jacobites.  Though  he  now  suspected  that  Rory's  haste 
to  send  him  away  from  the  tavern  had  been  merely  in  order 
to  clear  the  way  for  Josiah,  it  was  still  probable  the  con- 
spirators might  visit  the  suspected  house  later  in  the  even- 
ing and  be  trapped.  He  waited  only  to  despatch  Mrs. 
Leslie's  letters  by  Simon,  and  then  strode  off  to  the  Bear 
Inn,  where  Charles  Rathborne  had  his  lodging. 

He  scarcely  hoped  to  find  Rathborne  at  his  rooms,  but 
good  luck  attended  him.  Charles  had  just  returned  from 
a  rout,  and  was  changing  his  coat  preparatory  to  joining 
a  gaming  party  at  the  Christopher  Inn.  His  face  hardened 
when  he  recognised  his  visitor,  and  he  gave  him  curt  greet- 
ing. 

"What  are  you  seeking  here,  Curtis?  I  had  thought  you 
had  learned  by  this  time  to  avoid  our  company." 

"Like  the  devil  when  there  are  more  than  three  of  you 
together,"  answered  Tim  coolly.  "But,  egad!  I  find  one 
or  two  of  you  at  a  time  vastly  refreshing  company." 

"What  d'ye  want?"  asked  Charles  shortly. 

"Merely  to  set  your  noses  on  the  right  scent  for  once.  I 
have  told  you  till  I  am  tired  of  telling  that  I'm  not  the 
man  you  seek.  Now  I'm  here  to  prove  it." 

"We  are  as  weary  of  hearing  your  assurances  as  you  pro- 
fess to  be  of  making  them,"  answered  Rathborne.  "And 
we  are  like  to  grow  as  weary  of  your  proofs.  Wimbourne 
has  told  me  of  the  affair  last  Saturday  with  the  girl 
Martha." 

Tim  sat  down  astride  a  chair  and  put  up  his  glass. 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  287 

"Heaven  has  only  blessed  me  with  a  limited  amount  of 
patience,  Charles,"  he  drawled.  "Don't  draw  too  freely  on 
the  store.  Either  listen  to  me  now  with  reasonable  cre- 
dence, or  I  swear  I'll  hold  my  tongue  and  Jamie's  boy  may 
whistle  for  your  help." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Charles  quickly. 

"Pelham's  agent  has  received  information  that  certain 
Jacobites  have  hidden  arms  and  ammunition  behind  the 
wainscot  in  Madame  Grieve's  house.  The  place  will  be 
raided  to-night." 

"Damnation !"  cried  Charles,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"Exactly,"  drawled  Tim.    "Plaguy  annoying,  isn't  it?" 

Charles  strode  across  the  room  and  faced  him,  his  voice 
was  shaking  with  passion.  "You  hound !  You  are  the  man 
we  have  to  thank  for  this.  By  heaven !  Curtis,  I'll  kill  you 
before  another  hour  is  past." 

Timothy  put  up  his  hand  soothingly.  "You  men  of 
Jamie's  are  so  demmed  hotheaded,"  he  complained  re- 
proachfully. "Use  your  intelligence,  Charles.  If  I  had 
betrayed  you,  should  I  be  here  now  to  warn  you  of  the 
raid?" 

"Yes,  when  it  is  obviously  too  late  to  prevent  it,"  an- 
swered Rathborne  sharply. 

Tim  stared  at  him  a  moment  in  silence.  "Egad!"  he  said 
admiringly,  "you  have  the  choicest  conception  of  a  villain, 
Charles." 

Rathborne  turned  away  with  an  oath.  Tim  stretched  out 
his  hand  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Don't  you  intend  to  profit  by  the  warning?  Are  you 
going  to  do  nothing?" 

"Do!"  cried  Charles  savagely.  "What  is  there  to  do? 
We  are  ruined.  We  can't  prevent  the  raid,  and  we  cannot 


288  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

possibly  move  the  ammunition  now.  It  must  go.  Nothing 
can  be  done." 

"The  others  can  be  warned." 

Charles  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "To  what  purpose?  All 
Bath  wiU  know  in  an  hour  or  two.  No  one  goes  to  the 
house  to-night,  and  it  were  wiser  that  Marie  Grieve  should 
go  as  usual  to-morrow.  She  will  have  no  difficulty  in  prov- 
ing her  ignorance.  It's  well  known  she  was  only  in  the 
place  in  the  daytime." 

Tim  dropped  his  glass  and  swung  it  idly  to  and  fro. 

"It  seems  my  news  has  fallen  devilish  flat,"  he  said  coolly. 

"  'Tis  monstrous  discouraging  to  find  such  a  plaguy  lack 
of  interest  taken  in  one's  information." 

Charles  eyed  him  doubtfully.  "Have  you  given  Pelham 
our  names  ?"  he  asked. 

"//  Have  I?"  cried  Tim,  exasperated.  "My  faith !  but 
you  try  the  patience  of  a  saint.  It's  not  I  whom  you  need 
fear.  You've  a  traitor  in  your  own  company,  and  if  you 
don't  lay  him  by  the  heels  to-night  he'll  hand  you  all  over 
to  Pelham  for  one  thousand  guineas." 

"A  traitor  in  our  company !"  cried  Charles.  "Nonsense ! 
Whom?" 

"Rory  Winnington." 

"Rory!"  Charles  fell  back  a  step  and  stared  at  him  in 
absolute  unbelief.  "You  accuse  Rory  of  betraying  us?" 
He  laughed  suddenly.  "  'Pon  my  soul,  Curtis,  I  did  not 
believe  even  you  capable  of  offering  such  a  crazy  tale  for 
our  belief.  Rory !  Why,  he  has  been  Tracy's  right-hand 
man  in  the  affair  from  the  beginning.  He  was  down  at 
Bristol  all  March  organising  the  shipment  of  arms." 

"That  may  be,"  said  Tim  shortly.  "It  seems  he  has 
changed  his  politics.  An  hour  ago  he  told  Pelham's  agent 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  289 

the  secret  of  Madame  Grieve's  house,  and  promised  to  for- 
ward a  full  list  of  the  Jacobite  conspirators  in  a  few  days." 

Charles  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  believe  you,"  he  said 
bluntly. 

Timothy  flushed.  "I  don't  allow  any  man  to  give  me  the 
lie,"  he  said  sharply.  "If  I  were  not  so  demmed  sorry  to 
see  you  all  with  your  necks  in  the  noose,  I  swear  I  wouldn't 
raise  another  finger  to  help  you." 

Suddenly  his  manner  changed.  He  put  his  hand  on  Rath- 
borne's  shoulder.  "Charles,"  he  said  earnestly,  "have  I 
been  such  a  bad  friend  to  you  all,  that  you  should  take 
Rory's  word  against  mine  now?  I'm  Hanoverian,  I'm 
Whig,  but  demme!  if  I've  ever  done  anything  to  deserve 
that  you  should  hold  me  such  a  contemptible  villain  as  I 
must  be  if  there's  no  truth  in  Rory's  guilt." 

Charles  hesitated.  Then  he  picked  up  his  hat  and  crossed 
to  the  door.  "You  shall  come  with  me  to  Rory  now,"  he 
said  shortly,  "and  accuse  him  to  his  face." 

"I  ask  nothing  fairer,"  said  Tim,  with  alacrity.  "I've 
no  proof  to  offer  save  my  word;  you  shall  judge  between 
us." 

The  two  men  walked  to  Rory's  lodging  in  silence.  Tim 
was  debating  the  best  way  to  bring  home  his  accusation, 
since  he  knew  the  traitor  was  not  one  to  be  easily  taken  off 
his  guard.  But  Rathborne's  silence  covered  a  deeper 
struggle.  For  in  his  soul  temptation  warred  against  his 
honour,  since  the  proving  of  Timothy's  innocence  meant 
the  loss  to  him  of  that  which  he  held  dearer  than  his  life, 
the  hope  of  winning  Celia.  He  prayed  in  his  heart  that 
justice  might  guide  him,  knowing  himself  to  be  so  blinded 
by  love. 

A  light  was  burning  in  Rory's  room  when  they  reached 


290  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

the  door  of  the  house  in  Cheap  Street,  where  he  lodged,  but 
his  servant  met  them  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  assured 
them  his  master  was  not  at  home. 

"Where  is  he  ?"  asked  Charles  sharply. 

"At  the  Christopher  Inn,  sir,"  answered  the  man  slowly. 
But  even  as  he  spoke  Rory's  laugh  floated  down  to  them 
from  the  window  above. 

"You  insolent  liar,"  cried  Charles  angrily,  "make  way." 

Still  the  man  barred  the  passage,  looking  scared. 

"Mr.  Winnington  is  engaged,  sir,"  he  persisted.  "I  am 
to  admit  no  one." 

"Our  business  is  too  urgent  to  wait,"  answered  Tim 
shortly.  "Light  us  up,  fellow." 

The  man  stood  a  moment  hesitating,  then  turned  and  run- 
ning hurriedly  up  the  stairs,  darted  into  his  master's  room, 
shutting  the  door  behind  him. 

"Plague  on  the  rascal !  What  does  he  mean  by  his  inso- 
lence?" said  Charles  angrily.  "Shall  we  go  up,  Curtis?" 

Timothy  nodded.  They  stumbled  up  the  dark  staircase 
and  knocked  at  the  door  of  Rory's  room.  A  sleepy  voice 
bade  them  enter.  They  found  Rory  alone  sprawling  on 
a  couch,  drawn  near  to  the  window,  paper  and  pencil  in 
hand.  He  looked  up  and  nodded  a  welcome. 

"Here,  Tim,  you've  a  monstrous  pretty  wit  for  stringing 
verses,  give  me  a  rhyme  for  'Cupid,'  "  he  drawled,  staring 
at  his  paper.  "I'm  crazing  my  wits  over  a  sonnet  I  vowed 
I  would  write  for  Lady  de  Putren.  The  first  three  lines 
would  have  driven  the  little  hunchback  Pope  wild  with 
envy,  but  demme!  if  I  can  think  of  a  fourth  to  equal 
them." 

Charles  looked  across  at  Timothy  doubtfully,  it  seemed 
so  impossible  to  believe  this  handsome,  smiling  dilettante  the 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  291 

traitor  he  had  declared  him  to  be.     Timothy's  face  har- 
dened. 

Rory  looked  at  them  curiously.  "Egad!  you  are  both 
monstrous  solemn,"  he  said.  "What's  amiss?  Listen  to 
this: 

i 

"When  Venus  from  her  playful  boy  his  barbed  arrows  stole, 
She  gave  him  into  Vulcan's  care  his  wildness  to  control. 
But  e'en  the  horny-handed  god  could  not  control  young 

Cupid : 
Two  hearts  he  forged 

Have  you  read  anything  to  equal  that  in  all  Pope's  folios  ?" 

"We've  come  on  urgent  affairs,  Rory,"  said  Charles  im- 
patiently. "You  must  give  us  your  attention." 

"What  the  plague  d'ye  want?"  asked  Rory  plaintively. 

"Can't  you  see  I'm  demmed  busy?  'Cupid — stupid — 
drooped.'  'Drooped'  might  serve  at  a  pinch." 

With  an  exclamation  of  impatience  Charles  leaned  over 
him,  snatched  the  paper  from  his  hand,  and  threw  it,  a 
crumpled  ball,  out  of  the  window.  Rory  sat  upright,  eye- 
ing him  indignantly. 

"Confound  you,  Charles,  that's  my  sonnet !  I  shall  forget 
the  blessed  thing  if  I  don't  write  it  down  again.  'When 
Venus  first — '  How  did  it  go?" 

He  reached  out  to  the  table  for  another  piece  of  paper  and 
began  to  scribble.  Tim  laid  a  strong  hand  on  his  wrist. 

"Rory,"  he  said  sternly,  "the  game's  up.  I've  brought 
Charles  Rathborne  here  to  tell  him  that  you  are  in  Pelham's 
service,  bribed  to  betray  the  Jacobite  conspirators  to  the 
government." 

The  paper  in  Rory's  hand  shook  slightly,  but  his  face 


292  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

did  not  change.  He  gazed  up  at  Timothy  in  mild  amaze- 
ment. 

"Ah!"  he  said  coolly,  "why  do  you  tell  him  that?" 

"Curtis  claims  he  can  prove  it,"  said  Charles,  eyeing  him 
closely. 

"Does  he?  Now,  that's  demmed  interesting,"  drawled 
Rory.  "What  are  your  proofs,  Tim?  Has  Pelham 
peached?  Have  you  found  papers  in  my  hand  to  the  gov- 
ernment? Has  any  one  seen  me  playing  the  traitor?  Out 
with  your  proofs,  man." 

"I  heard  you  an  hour  since  betraying  the  secret  of  Madame 
Grieve's  house  to  Lord  Pelham's  agent,"  said  Tim  reso- 
lutely. 

"You  heard  me?  You  didn't  see  me?  Where  did  you 
hear  me?" 

"At  the  'Cock  and  Bull'  tavern." 

Rory  shook  his  head.  "A  mighty  lame  tale,  Tim.  Go 
home  and  think  of  more  detail." 

"I  can  swear  you  were  there." 

Rory  smiled.  "Well,  how  many  witnesses  do  you  want  to 
swear  I  was  not,  eh?  I'll  produce  them." 

Tim  stood  silent  thinking,  still  grasping  the  other's  wrist. 
Rory  took  the  pen  in  his  other  hand  and  went  on  with  his 
scribbling. 

"I  don't  blame  you,  Tim,"  he  said  coolly.  "I'd  have  done 
the  same  myself,  only —  "  he  laughed,  "bless  you,  Tim !  I 
would  have  thought  of  a  more  convincing  lie." 

Timothy  smiled.  "I  don't  doubt  it,"  he  said  drily. 
"Truth  is  always  simpler  than  fiction."  He  turned  to 
Rathborne:  "Charles,  you  have  only  our  two  words  to  go 
by,"  he  said  quietly.  "But  remember  this;  you  hold  no 
clearer  proof  against  me  than  I  hold  against  Rory.  Fur- 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  293 

ther,  I  could  have  no  means  of  knowing  where  your  arms 
were  hid,  yet  that  knowledge  has  been  betrayed." 

Rathborne  hesitated.  "Rory,  do  you  deny  this  charge?" 
he  asked  slowly. 

"Deny  it !  Egad !  yes,  as  often  as  you  like.  'Two  hearts 
he  forged  at —  Tim,  what  the  plague  does  rhyme  with 
'Cupid'?" 

Timothy  dropped  his  wrist  with  a  despairing  gesture. 
Rory  laughed. 

"Not  in  the  vein  for  poesy,  eh?  You  should  prac- 
tise it,  Tim.  'Tis  demmed  good  training  for  the  in- 
vention." 

Timothy's  eyes  hardened ;  he  was  losing  patience. 

'"It's  no  good,  Rory,"  he  said.  "I  know  you  to  be  the 
traitor;  proving  it  is  only  a  question  of  time.  But  for 
Charles  here,  and  the  others,  time's  a  consideration.  They 
cannot  let  you  go  free  under  suspicion,  you  know  too 
much." 

"I've  a  plaguy  short  memory  when  it's  convenient," 
laughed  Rory.  "Let  them  console  themselves  with  that." 

"Have  you  forgotten  that  it  was  you  who  warned  me  of 
Stavely's  kidnapping,  you  who  rescued  me  from  Marie 
Grieve's  house?" 

Charles  started.     "Is  that  the  truth?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"No,"  said  Rory  coolly.  "Tim's  invention  is  improving. 
He'll  find  me  a  rhyme  for  'Cupid'  presently." 

But  Charles  Rathborne  was  shaken  by  Tim's  quiet  firm- 
ness. 

"If  it  was  you  who  rescued  Curtis,"  he  began,  "it 
was " 

"Demmed  ungrateful  of  Curtis  to  mention  it,"  interrupted 
Rory  cheerfully.  "I  agree  with  you,  Charles." 


294  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

Timothy  crossed  to  the  bureau.  "I  claim  the  right  to 
search  through  your  papers,"  he  said  shortly. 

Rory  laughed.  "You'll  find  them  mighty  uninteresting." 
He  detached  a  key  from  his  fob  and  threw  it  across  to  Tim. 
"Read  what  you  like,"  he  said  coolly. 

Charles  joined  in  the  search.  Together  they  hunted 
through  the  bureau  and  all  other  available  hiding-places 
for  papers.  They  found  nothing  except  a  copy  of  the 
letter  from  McFee  which  Tracy  Wimbourne  had  received 
the  previous  week.  Poems,  bills,  and  billet-doux  were  there 
in  abundance,  but  nothing  to  throw  light  upon  the  supposed 
treachery. 

Rory  lay  back  at  his  ease  and  watched  them  smilingly. 

"Dear,  dear,  Tim!"  he  said,  "nothing  to  be  found?  How 
bedad  annoying !" 

Timothy  looked  round.  "The  inner  room,"  he  said,  cross- 
ing to  the  door. 

Rory  sat  upright  suddenly.  "No,"  he  said  sharply, 
"demmed  if  you  shall !  I'll  have  no  more  of  your  interfer- 
ence. Leave  my  bedroom  alone,  Tim." 

Timothy  tried  the  door;  it  was  locked.  He  turned  to 
Rory  and  faced  him  with  a  dangerous  light  in  his 
eyes. 

"Give  me  the  key,"  he  demanded  sharply. 

"Not  I,"  laughed  Rory.  "What!  you'd  intrude  on  the 
privacy  of  a  bachelor?  Lud!  gentlemen,  you're  marvellous 
indacent  to  suggest  it." 

He  rose  and  lounged  between  the  two  men  and  the  inner 
door.  "I'm  plaguy  weary  of  this  comedy,"  he  drawled ;  "be 
off,  both  of  you,  and  let  me  finish  my  sonnet.  'Cupid — 
drooped — quadruped.'  Gad!  'quadruped's'  a  bedad  tasty 
word.  What  do  you  say  to  it,  Tim?" 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  295 

"You  hand  me  that  key  or  I  swear  I'll  break  in  the  door," 
said  Tim  sharply.  His  temper  was  roused  at  last. 

Charles  Rathborne  intervened.  "Don't  play  the  fool, 
Rory.  Either  let  us  search  your  rooms,  or  we  draw  con- 
clusions that  you  are  hiding  something.  This  is  a  matter 
of  life  and  death ;  there's  no  time  for  scruples." 

Rory  eyed  him  queerly.  "You  take  my  refusal  to  let  you 
ransack  my  rooms  as  proof  of  my  guilt,  eh?" 

"We  don't  leave  here  till  we  are  satisfied  that  you  have 
nothing  to  conceal,"  answered  Rathborne  resolutely. 

Rory  stepped  back  toward  the  door.  "Then  devise  some 
other  mode  of  satisfying  yourselves ;  you  don't  enter  this 
room." 

With  a  sudden  exclamation  of  exasperation  Charles  threw 
his  arms  round  Rory,  pinioning  him. 

"Now,  Curtis — force  the  door,"  he  said  sharply. 

For  a  second  Rory  struggled  fiercely ;  but  his  strength 
was  nothing  compared  with  Rathborne's.  He  gave  up  the 
attempt  to  free  himself.  A  queer  light  dawned  in  his  eyes, 
a  smile  almost  of  self-mockery  curled  his  lips. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  quietly.  "Come  away  from  that  door, 
Tim ;  I  give  in.  You  are  right ;  I  sold  the  information 
about  the  arms  to  Pelham's  agent  this  evening;  I'm  in  his 
pay  to  spy  on  the  Jacobites." 

There  was  a  moment's  dead  silence ;  then  Charles's  voice, 
deep  with  indignation  and  contempt,  broke  the  stillness. 

"You  d—    -  traitor !" 

Rory  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Comments  on  my  conduct 
are  not  asked  for,  Charles,"  he  said  coolly. 

Charles  looked  at  him  with  a  hopeless  contempt.  "When 
did  you  take  up  the  affair?" 

"Last  month.     'Tis  possible  I  might  have  played  Pelham 


296  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

false  in  the  end  and  spared  some  of  you  the  noose ;  I'd  no 
wish  to  hang  you  all." 

"Where  are  Tracy's  papers?"  asked  Charles  quickly. 

"Ah!  I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Rory.  "I  was  too  late  there. 
The  nest  had  been  robbed  before  I  reached  it.  Have  you 
got  them  by  any  chance,  Tim?" 

Charles  turned  to  Timothy  suddenly  and  held  out  his 
hand.  "We  owe  you  apologies,  Tim,"  he  said  huskily.  He 
gave  away  his  last  hope  of  winning  Celia  with  this  admis- 
sion of  Timothy's  innocence. 

Rory  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  shrewd  question- 
ing glance.  "Well,"  he  drawled,  "now  you  have  the  truth, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  with  it — and  with  me?" 

Timothy  looked  doubtfully  across  at  Charles.  "That  is 
your  affair,"  he  said,  "I've  no  quarrel  with  him.  But  I 
suppose  you  must  have  him  silenced." 

Charles  nodded.  "Bob  and  Tracy  must  decide.  They 
may  ship  him  off  to  Paris  in  your  stead  to  await  the  Prince's 
decision.  Perhaps  they'll  want — er — shorter  measures." 

Rory  threw  himself  back  in  a  chair  and  idly  fingered  his 
pistol  which  lay  on  the  table;  Charles  moved  across  and 
moved  it  from  under  his  hand.  Rory  laughed  softly. 

"Charles,"  he  said  suddenly,  "what's  the  price  of  your 
silence  ?" 

Rathborne  shook  his  head.  This  man's  betrayal  had 
ruined  the  work  for  which  they  had  risked  their  lives;  he 
had  no  pity  for  him. 

"I'd  give  you  my  word  to  meddle  no  further  in  the  mat- 
ter," said  Rory  slowly.  "Or  I  could  lead  Pelham  on  a  wild- 
goose  chase." 

Rathborne  showed  no  signs  of  relenting.  Rory  eyed  him 
eagerly. 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  297 

"You  won't  trust  me  again,  eh  ?  Well — you're  wise."  He 
bent  his  head  and  examined  the  buttons  on  his  cuff;  his 
face  was  flushed.  "You  must  clear  Tim,"  he  continued 
slowly.  "Perhaps  Bob  and  the  rest  must  be  told.  But — 
demme !  Charles,  I'd  be  plaguy  grateful  if  you  could  keep 
the  truth  from — my  sisters.  They — Celia — has  such  a 
marvellous  belief  in  my  honesty.  I'd  as  lief  she  never 
learned  the — what  I've  done." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Timothy  quickly,  "I  hold  with  Rory. 
She  never  shall  be  told." 

"Ay !  but  she  will  hear,  if  'tis  known.  Women — bless  their 
hearts — hear  everything.  You  don't  see  your  way,  Charles, 
to  keeping  it  close?" 

Rathborne  shook  his  head  resolutely.  His  stern  Scotch 
honesty  knew  no  pity  for  a  traitor. 

Rory  sat  a  moment  gazing  silently  into  the  night.  "Out 
of  the  sunshine !"  he  muttered,  with  a  wistful  smile. 

He  turned  to  Rathborne.  "Charles,"  he  said  gravely, 
"there's  one  price,  I  take  it,  would  buy  your  silence.  If  you 
will  give  me  back  my  pistol  I'll  pay  it  now." 

Rathborne  started.    "You  mean ?" 

"Dead  men  tell  no  tales ;  therefore  no  tales  are  told  about 
them.  If  I — er — disappear  there  will  be  no  need  to  publish 
the  cause." 

The  two  men  stood  silent.  Rory  looked  up  questioningly. 
"Well,"  he  asked,  "is  my  price  acceptable?" 

"Yes,"  said  Charles  gravely,  "we  will  speak  no  evil  of  the 
dead." 

He  hesitated,  then  continued  quickly :  "But  it  must  not 
be  done  here ;  that  is  impossible." 

Rory  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently.  "As  you  will. 
I  will  go  with  you  half  a  mile  down  the  London  Road ;  that 


298  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

will  serve,  and  the  footpads  can  bear  the  blame.  Let  me 
write  one  letter,  then  I  am  ready." 

He  picked  up  the  paper  on  which  he  had  scribbled  his  son- 
net, wrote  a  few  lines  on  the  back;  then  folded  and  ad- 
dressed it,  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"Now,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  am  ready  to  go  with  you." 

"No,  Rory,  no !    I  cannot  endure  it !" 

The  cry  rang  out  in  a  woman's  anguished  voice.  The  in- 
ner door  was  flung  wide,  and  Dorothy  Smallshaw  appeared 
on  the  threshold. 

Tim  started  back  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  Rory 
turned  and  looked  at  her,  a  smile  of  tender  amusement  on 
his  lips. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  reproachfully,  "you 
should  be  more  careful  of  your  reputation.  I  have  been  at 
— er — the  greatest  pains  to  preserve  your  privacy." 

She  flung  herself  on  her  knees  beside  his  chair,  and  caught 
his  arm.  "I  know — I  know.  Ah !  Rory,  I  have  heard  all ; 
but  you  must  not,  you  shall  not  put  an  end  to  your  life." 

He  took  her  hand  caressingly.  "My  dear  child,  it  is  cus- 
tomary to  hang  a  spy — with  insult.  These  gentlemen  have 
granted  me  a  pleasanter  mode  of  exit." 

"Ah !  no — no !    Why  must  it  be  at  all?" 

"Every  man  has  his  weakness,  Dorothy,  and  must  pay  for 
it.  Mine  is  my  reputation." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  cried  piteously.  "And  you  don't  think 
of  me,  Rory?" 

"Of  you?"  He  laughed  softly.  "Dear  heart!  Bath  is 
full  of  vagabonds.  In  a  year  I  shall  be  but  a  memory  to 
you." 

She  did  not  attempt  to  argue  with  him;  she  turned  to 
Timothy. 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  299 

"In  an  hour  we  should  be  on  our  way  to  Gretna,"  she  said 
simply,  offering  the  strongest  plea  she  could. 

"Yes,"  said  Rory,  "a  marvellous  unpleasant  interruption 
to  our  wedding  journey,  is  it  not,  Dorothy?" 

"Mr.  Curtis — :"  pleaded  Dorothy,  holding  out  her  hands. 

Timothy  crossed  to  Rathborne.  "Charles,"  he  said 
quickly,  "we  must  devise  some  other  way.  It  is  impossible 
to  insist  on  his  death  now." 

Rathborne  shook  his  head.  "There  is  no  other  way,"  he 
said  resolutely. 

"Gad !"  muttered  Tim,  "you're  a  hard  man,  Charles." 

Rory  gently  raised  Dorothy  to  her  feet.  "Let  Curtis  take 
you  home,  child,"  he  said  tenderly.  "Your  presence  here 
is  demmed  embarrassing  for  Charles  Rathborne." 

But  Dorothy  shook  off  his  hand  and  turned  to  face  Rath- 
borne,  her  eyes  blazing  with  anger.  "You  shall  either 
spare  his  life,  Sir  Charles,  or  take  mine,  too,"  she  cried. 
"I  know  as  much  of  your  plots  as  he  does.  If  you  touch  a 
hair  of  his  head,  Lord  Pelham  shall  know  what  I  know  be- 
fore a  day  has  passed." 

Rory  broke  into  a  sudden  soft  laugh  of  admiration: 
"Bravo,  Dorothy!  Egad!  you  have  him  there.  But  you 
forget,  my  dear — my  reputation." 

Rathborne  stood  silent,  staring  moodily  at  the  floor.  Tim- 
othy put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Come  what  may  of  it, 
Charles,"  he  said  resolutely,  "the  man  must  live." 

There  was  a  pause.  At  last  Rathborne  lifted  his  head, 
his  resolution  taken. 

"There's  one  alternative,  Winnington.  Ride  with  me  to 
Bristol  to-night,  take  ship  to  the  Colonies,  and  never  set 
foot  in  England  again.  If  you  do  this  only  Tracy  and 
Bob  Dacre  need  learn  the  truth." 


300  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"The  Colonies!"  said  Rory,  with  a  grimace.  "Demmed 
uncivilised  places!" 

"If  you  return  to  England,"  continued  Charles,  "or  if 
you  play  us  false,  I  will  publish  your  treachery,  and  have 
you  hounded  out  of  the  society  of  gentlemen." 

Rory  flushed.  "I  can't  call  you  to  account  for  your  lan- 
guage, Charles,  but  you're  bedad  free  with  your  tongue." 

"Is  it  to  be  America,  or  a  longer  journey?"  asked  Charles 
curtly. 

Rory  turned  to  Dorothy.  "I'd  as  lief  taste  cold  steel  here 
as  go  to  the  Colonies — alone,"  he  said  softly. 

She  put  her  hands  in  his.  "I  will  go  with  you,  Rory,"  she 
said  resolutely. 

Timothy  started  forward.  "No!  I  will  not  have  that. 
You  are  in  my  uncle's  care,  Miss  Smallshaw." 

She  wheeled  round  and  faced  him  in  a  fury.  "Mr.  Curtis, 
you  dare  to  prevent  me?" 

Rory  laughed  and  patted  her  arm.  "Tut !  child,  Tim's 
right.  Demmed  improper  notion  of  yours!" 

He  looked  down  into  her  eyes  and  smiled.  She  put  her 
arm  about  his  neck.  "I  will  come,"  she  whispered  softly, 
"to  the  world's  end  if  you  want  me.  What  is  it  to  me  what 
you  have  done?" 

Rory  looked  across  at  Charles.  "Five  minutes,  gentle- 
men," he  said  entreatingly. 

Charles  nodded.  He  and  Timothy  drew  back  into  the  win- 
dow, and  left  the  two  whispering  together. 

"A  frigate  sails  to-morrow,"  said  Charles.  "I  will  see 
him  away  and  return  as  quickly  as  may  be.  Be  advised, 
Tim,  keep  house  to-morrow.  This  loss  of  the  arms  will 
drive  the  Jacobites  desperate.  But  you  shall  be  cleared  of 
all  suspicion  when  I  return."  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SPY  301 

he  laid  his  hand  on  Timothy's  arm.  "Celia  Winnington 
loves  you,  Tim,"  he  said  huskily.  "I'm  glad — for  her 
sake — the  accusation  against  you  is  disproved.  There's  no 
man  worthy  of  her,  but — you'll  make  her  happy." 

Tim  looked  out  into  the  night,  his  eyes  glowed.  "Heaven 
helping  me,  Charles,  I  will  love  and  serve  her  all  my  days," 
he  said  softly. 

"Come,  Charles,  boot,  saddle,  and  away,"  cried  Rory 
briskly. 

Rathborne  turned  to  him.  "Are  you  ready?"  he  asked 
curtly.  "Then  I'll  send  your  man  for  horses."  He  left  the 
room  to  make  preparations  for  their  ride. 

Rory  turned  to  Tim.  His  gravity  had  vanished ;  his  eyes 
danced  with  eagerness  and  excitement. 

"So  it's  westward  ho,  eh,  Tim?  Egad!  Geordie  must  look 
to  his  laurels.  Why  shouldn't  Prince  Lackland  lay  hold  on 
America  ?  Faith !  we'll  have  stirring  times  there  before  our 
beards  are  grey.  The  notion  takes  me  amazingly." 

Timothy  looked  across  at  Dorothy ;  her  eyes  were  spark- 
ling with  excitement  as  she  listened  to  Rory's  talk.  Tim's 
suspicions  were  awakened ;  but  it  was  not  his  affair  to  curb 
the  spirits  of  runaway  heiresses. 

Presently  Rathborne  returned.  "All's  ready,"  he  said, 
looking  to  the  priming  of  his  pistols.  "Your  mails  shall 
follow  you,  Winnington.  If  you  slip  me,  you  know  the 
consequences." 

"Take  Dorothy  home,  Tim,"  said  Rory.  He  kissed  her 
hand ;  they  looked  again  into  each  other's  eyes,  then  with  a 
little  laugh  she  drew  away  her  hand  and  preceded  Tim  out 
of  the  room. 

Rory  turned  to  Timothy ;  his  face  grew  grave  and  wistful. 

"Tim,"  he  said  slowly,  "you — you  will  take  care  of  Celia? 


302  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

She  loves  you,  and  she — egad !  Tim,  she's  the  most  honest 
soul  alive.  I'd  have  died  rather  than  have  her  lose  her  faith 
in  me.  Let  her  always  believe  in  my  love  for  her." 

"She'll  never  hear  a  word  of  this  from  me,  Rory." 

Rory  held  out  his  hand.  For  a  perceptible  moment  Timo- 
thy hesitated;  then  he  shook  it  heartily  and  followed 
Dorothy.  He  was  no  man  to  judge  harshly  of  another's 
trips. 

But  Rory  stood  a  moment  silent,  staring  down  at  his  hand. 
His  face  was  flushed,  his  lips  drawn  tight  together. 

"An  honest  gentleman!"  he  muttered  slowly.  "Now  be- 
twixt him  and  a  scoundrel  there  was  a  great  gulf  fixed." 

He  gave  a  quick  sigh,  threw  back  his  head  defiantly,  and 
followed  Rathborne  out  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON 

THE  gossips  of  Bath  who  gathered  at  the  baths  and  the 
Pump  Room  the  following  morning  had  ample  subject  for 
conversation.  Miss  Dorothy  Smallshaw,  the  beauty  of  the 
hour,  had  fled  in  the  night,  none  knew  whither;  Mr.  Rory 
Winnington  had  likewise  disappeared;  rumours,  conjec- 
tures, conclusions  were  rife.  The  matter  had  proved  enough 
to  serve  Bath  with  talk  for  a  week,  had  not  another  and 
more  enthralling  item  of  news  arisen  to  turn  men's  thoughts 
speedily  from  so  commonplace  a  matter  as  a  runaway 
match. 

Here  was  conspiracy  in  their  midst!  Arms  hidden  in  a 
house !  Gunpowder  stowed  behind  innocent-seeming  wain- 
scot! Who  could  tell  what  dread  plot  was  afoot  to  over- 
throw established  order,  to  upset  the  constitution,  and  to 
murder  innocent  citizens  in  their  beds?  Fair  bosoms  flut- 
tered with  anxious  fears.  Nervous  and  bejewelled  dowagers 
ordered  their  horses  for  flight.  Politicians  clacked  their 
tongues ;  wits  wrote  letters ;  the  grave  city  fathers  groaned 
under  the  weight  of  their  responsibilities.  Men  eyed  one 
another  askance,  suspicion  was  in  every  mind.  For  here 
was  a  plot,  plain  enough ;  yet  no  trace  of  the  plotters — 
only  an  indignantly  bewildered  little  French  coiffeuse  with 
reputation  so  stainless  that  none  could  lift  a  stone  to  fling 
at  her. 

Verily,  indeed,  Bath  had  matter  enough  for  gossip  that, 
sunny  25th  of  July.  Greater  still  would  have  been  the  ex- 


304-  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

citement  could  the  gossips  have  known  that  on  that  very 
morning  the  ill-fated  Prince  for  whom  the  conspiracy  was 
hatched  had  set  foot  at  last  in  his  native  land. 

In  and  out  among  the  chattering  groups  strolled  the  con- 
spirators, ready  as  any  with  conjectures  and  amazement. 
But  who  can  tell  what  black  rage  seethed  in  their  hearts  at 
this  betrayal  of  their  plan?  Who  can  guess  what  dark 
fears  shadowed  them  at  thought  of  the  sword  hanging  over 
their  heads? 

At  a  small  table  at  the  back  of  Simpson's  coffee-room 
Roger  Lee,  Lord  Stavely  and  Mr.  Seccombe  sat  break- 
fasting in  moody  silence.  Lee's  lips  were  drawn  straight 
and  tight,  the  man's  ungovernable  temper  mastered  him ;  he 
raged  to  be  at  the  throat  of  the  betrayer.  His  companions 
eyed  him  anxiously,  fearing  to  talk  lest  in  the  heat  of  dis- 
cussion he  should  lose  what  small  restraint  he  had. 

Presently  Lord  Robert  and  Marcus  Ormonde  entered. 
They  paused  at  the  door  to  speak  with  a  little  group  of  men 
passing  out;  then  they  settled  down  at  a  table  near  to 
Stavely's  seat.  The  rooms  were  almost  empty;  no  man 
tarried  long  in  any  place  that  morning;  all  hurried  hither 
and  thither  in  search  of  news. 

Lord  Robert  leaned  over  Stavely's  chair. 

"That  rattlepate  Rory  has  gone  off  on  some  wild-goose 
chase  just  when  he  should  have  proved  most  useful,"  he 
grumbled.  "Tracy  has  ridden  off  already  to  Bristol  to  set 
on  foot  negotiations  for  a  fresh  supply  of  arms.  'Tis  all 
we  can  do  until  we  hear  from  the  Prince,  or  learn  how  we 
stand  here,  how  much  is  known." 

Lee  muttered  an  oath  of  impatience.  "All  we  can  do !"  he 
said  angrily.  "Is  that  damned  traitor  then  to  go  unpun- 
ished?" 


THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON      305 

Lord  Robert's  eyes  darkened.  "No,"  he  said  shortly. 
"He  shall  pay  the  price  of  his  betrayal.  Give  those  two 
led-captains — Owen  and  Trickett — what  they  ask  and  leave 
it  to  them  to  take  him  to-night  on  his  way  back  from  the 
ball  to  his  lodging.  He  will  be  unarmed;  the  Beau  allows 
no  swords  in  his  kingdom.  I  myself  will  undertake,  gentle- 
men, to  bring  him  down  to  the  Rooms.  More — he  shall  be 
at  the  Orange  Grove  at  half -past  nine.  I  know  the  lure  to 
draw  him." 

Marcus  eyed  him  doubtfully.  "Gad!  Bob,  don't  let  us 
draw  women  into  this  affair,"  he  said  shortly. 

"There  is  no  need  they  should  know  of  it,"  answered  Lord 
Robert  impatiently.  "Or,  at  most,  only  Lady  Wimbourne, 
and  her  husband's  life  is  at  stake." 

Marcus  shook  his  head.  "So  the  affair  be  arranged  in  a 
gentlemanly-like  manner,  I'm  as  willing  as  any  to  pay 
Curtis  my  dues.  But  demme  if  I  will  soil  my  fingers  with 
any  villain  tricks  compromising  women." 

Lord  Robert  stiffened.  "You  can  safely  leave  that  to  me, 
Marcus,"  he  said,  "and  remember  again,  we  fight  not  for 
our  own  necks,  but  for  the  success  of  the  Prince."  And 
then  quickly  to  Lee,  "What  would  you  have?" 

"Plainly — a  thrust  in  the  dark,  and  an  end  to  the  whole 
affair." 

"Cut-throat  work?"  asked  Marcus  slowly. 

"None  other  is  certain,"  answered  Lee. 

"What  else  does  the  damned  traitor  merit  ?"  urged  Stavely. 

"There's  no  other  way  to  silence  him,"  muttered  Seccombe. 

There  was  a  moment's  dead  silence.  Then  Lord  Robert 
rose  to  his  feet.  "We  give  you  carte  blanche,  Lee,"  he  said 
quietly.  He  slipped  his  arm  through  Ormonde's  and  turned 
to  leave  the  room.  Marcus  hesitated  a  moment ;  then  with 


506  THE  FAIR  MOON  OP  BATH 

a  little  shrug  of  his  shoulders  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
walked  away. 

"After  all,"  he  muttered,  "every  man  must  take  his  chance. 
And  Tim  Curtis  is  not  to  be  caught  napping." 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  Lord  Robert  waited  on  Adelaide 
Wimbourne  to  seek  her  help  in  his  plan.  At  first  he  was 
denied  admission,  the  servant  declaring  that  his  lady  could 
see  no  one,  but  upon  his  urging  the  importance  of  his  errand 
the  man  consented  to  take  up  his  name.  He  reappeared 
immediately  and  ushered  the  visitor  upstairs  with  a  haste 
that  bespoke  the  great  anxiety  of  his  mistress  to  receive 
her  guest. 

Lord  Robert  found  Adelaide  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  eagerly  awaiting  him.  She  almost  ran  to  meet  him, 
and  clung  to  his  hand  in  an  agony  of  fear.  He  was 
shocked  at  the  wildness  of  her  air,  the  disorder  of  her  ap- 
pearance. 

"Madam — madam,  this  will  never  do,"  he  cried  im- 
patiently, when  the  servant  had  left  the  room.  "You  must 
control  your  fears.  This  disturbance  is  enough  to  centre 
the  suspicions  of  the  whole  city  upon  Tracy." 

She  dropped  his  hand  and  turned  away,  making  an  effort 
to  control  herself.  "You  bring  no  fresh  news?"  she  asked, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"None.  And  every  hour's  delay  gives  new  hope.  It  would 
certainly  seem  that  our  names  are  still  secret,  since  no  at- 
tempt has  been  made  to  arrest  us." 

"But  how  long  can  we  hope  they  will  remain  so?"  she 
moaned. 

"Come,  Lady  Wimbourne,"  he  urged  kindly,  "indeed 
there  is  small  cause  for  such  immediate  fears.  Even  if  we 
be  accused,  the  evidence  against  us  can  be  but  slight.  Do 


THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON  307 

not  give  way  to  such  unreasoning  terror.  Twenty-four 
hours  agone  and  you  were  the  bravest  of  us  all." 

"The  blow  had  not  fallen  then ;  I  did  not  realise  the 
danger.  But  now — ah!  Lord  Robert,  you  cannot  under- 
stand. You  men  have  but  your  own  necks  to  care  about; 
I  have  Tracy's.  'Tis  so  hard  to  stand  by  and  watch  an- 
other's danger,  having  no  power  to  help." 

"You  have  that  power,  Lady  Wimbourne ;  'tis  for  that  I 
come  to  ask." 

She  turned  to  him  quickly.  "You  want  my  help?  Ah! 
what  can  I  do?  I  will  do  anything — anything — so  it  will 
save  Tracy." 

"Then  dry  your  eyes,  madam ;  quiet  your  fears,  and  listen 
to  me.  The  only  man  outside  our  company  who  had  power 
to  betray  us  is  Timothy  Curtis : 

"Ah!"  she  interrupted  quickly.     "You  are  sure  of  that?" 

"Whom  else  should  we  suspect?  He  knows  what  we  are 
about.  Our  lives  are  in  his  hands  and  he  goes  free." 

"But  why  does  he  go  free?" 

"He  is  too  prudent,  madam ;  we  cannot  lay  hands  on  him. 
But  we  must  have  him  to-night,  or  our  safety  will  only  be 
a  question  of  hours."  He  hesitated,  watching  her  closely. 
"It — er — it  is  here,  madam,"  he  said  slowly,  "we  require 
your  aid." 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully.     "You  mean ?" 

"He  must  come  down  to  the  Rooms  this  evening,  and  keep 
a  rendezvous  at  the  Orange  Grove  at  half-past  nine  o'clock. 
How  can  that  be  contrived?" 

Adelaide  turned  from  him  abruptly  and  crossed  to  the 
window.  "Why  do  you  come  to  me?"  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Because  you  alone  can  help  us." 


308  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"He  will  not  come  for  my  sake." 

"No,  madam.     But  you  can  bring  him." 

She  hesitated.  "Celia  would  never  forgive  me  did  she 
guess  I  had  brought  him  to  harm  by  such  means,"  she  said 
slowly. 

His  face  hardened.  "Has  it  gone  so  far  as  that?  Then 
for  her  sake  as  well  as  Tracy's  he  must  be  removed." 

"But  not  by  such  tools,"  she  pleaded.  "Ah !  no — indeed, 
I  cannot  do  it." 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Lady  Wimbourne,  I  can  contrive  no 
other." 

There  was  a  short  silence.     He  crossed  to  her  side. 

"I  won't  urge  it,  madam,"  he  said  gently.  "I  know  the 
task  is  distasteful.  I  would  never  have  suggested  it  were 
you  not  Tracy's  wife — but  we  have  learned  to  expect  so 
much  of  you." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  "It  would  be  for  Tracy's  sake," 
she  said,  arguing  with  herself. 

"To  save  his  life — and,  it  may  be,  your  sister's  happi- 
ness." 

Again  she  stood  silent  for  a  minute.  Then  she  bowed  her 
head.  "I  do  not  think,"  she  said  simply,  "Fate  should 
ask  so  much  of  a  woman." 

"But  you  will  do  it,  madam?" 

"I  have  no  choice." 

"How  will  you  contrive  it  ?" 

"Leave  that  to  me.  To  bring  him  to  the  Rooms  is  a  simple 
matter.  For  the  rest,  many  couples  venture  into  the  gar- 
dens these  hot  evenings ;  it  should  be  easy  to  induce  him  to 
walk  with  me  to  the  Grove." 

Lord  Robert  looked  at  her  curiously ;  she  spoke  in  a  cold 
matter-of-fact  tone;  her  face  had  grown  hard  and  set.  It 


THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON  309 

was  as  though  she  had  once  for  all  put  womanly  tenderness 
behind  her  and  walked  resolutely  along  the  way  she  had 
chosen. 

There  was  a  sudden  clash  of  chords  in  the  adjoining  room ; 
Celia's  voice,  uplifted  in  a  joyous  melody,  broke  the  still- 
ness. A  little  quiver  of  pain  crossed  Adelaide's  face. 

"Perchance,"  she  muttered,  "this  is  the  last  day  Celia  will 
find  the  heart  to  sing." 

Lord  Robert  winced.  "Lady  Wimbourne,"  he  cried  im- 
patiently, "you  must  not  think  so — so  brain-sickly.  A 
girl's  fancy — !  What  is  that  against  a  man's  life  ?  Against 
a  prince's  kingdom?" 

"It  may  prove  'tis  the  worth  of  a  girl's  soul,"  she  an- 
swered softly.  Then  her  face  hardened.  "You  are  right, 
Lord  Robert,  I  will  think  no  more." 

He  took  his  leave,  dissatisfied  with  her,  with  his  errand, 
with  life  altogether.  As  he  walked  down  the  street,  Celia's 
voice,  singing  joyously,  rang  in  his  ears.  He  hurried  to 
the  Christopher  Inn  to  deaden  the  sound  with  the  soft  slip- 
slip  of  the  cards.  He  hated  the  work  he  had  set  on  foot, 
but  for  the  sake  of  the  Stuart  he  would  let  no  woman  turn 
him  from  his  path. 

"Celia,"  Adelaide  said  sharply,  "I  must  speak  to  you  about 
Mr.  Curtis." 

Seated  at  her  harpsichord,  Celia  broke  off  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  song  and  looked  up  in  surprise  at  her  sister's 
tone. 

"Why,  Laidie,  what  has  happened?"  she  cried  quickly. 

"Happened!  Enough,  I  should  hope.  Do  you  go  about 
with  your  ears  closed  that  you  have  heard  nothing?"  cried 
Adelaide  impatiently. 


310  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"Do  you  mean  the  report  concerning  Rory  and  Dorothy 
Smallshaw?"  asked  Celia,  in  bewilderment. 

"No.  What  do  Rory's  mad  doings  concern  us?  Have 
you  not  heard  of  the  discovery  last  night?" 

"The  arms  hidden  at  Madame  G  rieve's  house  ?  Yes,  truly, 
but  how  should  that  concern  us — or  Mr.  Curtis?" 

"Child — how  blind  you  are!  They  were  hid  by  the 
Jacobite  conspirators,  of  whom  Tracy  is  the  chief." 

Celia  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  face  white  with  fear. 

"Laidie,  do  you  mean  it?    Has  Tracy  been  betrayed?" 

Tears  rushed  to  Adelaide's  eyes.  "Who  knows?  He  goes 
free  as  yet.  But  the  hiding-place  for  the  arms  has  been 
betrayed ;  the  plans  are  ruined.  At  any  hour  the  company 
may  be  arrested.  It  is  clear  the  traitor  has  no  mercy." 

"The  traitor — you  mean ?" 

"Mr.  Curtis." 

Celia's  hands  dropped  stiffly  to  her  side.  "No — no — 
Laidie,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  angry  voice.  "You  are  mis- 
taken. It  was  not  he  who  stole  your  papers ;  it  is  not  he 
who  has  betrayed  Tracy.  There  is  some  other  spy  in  the 
company." 

"Indeed?  And  who  is  he,  pray?  Has  Mr.  Curtis,  per- 
chance, told  you  his  name  among  his  other  information?" 

"No,"  faltered  Celia,  "he  has  not  yet  discovered  him." 

"Nor  is  he  like  to.  Child,  how  lightly  you  are  fooled.  A 
look  in  the  eyes  and  a  tripping  tongue,  and  every  man  is  an 
angel  to  you." 

Celia  flushed  crimson.  "Laidie,  I  will  not  have  you  speak 
so.  A  touch  of  suspicion  and  you  hold  a  man  the  blackest- 
hearted  traitor.  What  proof  can  you  give  of  Mr.  Curtis's 
treachery  ?" 

"More  than  you  can  give  of  his  honour.     He  alone  knew 


THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON  311 

where  the  papers  were  hid;  Martha  confessed  to  his  theft; 
Lord  Pelham  told  our  uncle  himself  that  this  man  took  his 
bribe.  What  more  do  you  need  to  be  convinced?  Have 
you  forgotten  the  base  of  our  accusation?" 

Slowly  the  flush  died  from  Celia's  cheeks.  She  brushed 
her  hand  wearily  across  her  brow.  Her  mouth  quivered. 

"I  seem  to  have  forgotten  everything,"  she  said  un- 
steadily, "except " 

"Except  the  man's  flattering  tongue,"  interrupted  Ade- 
laide sharply.  "Then  awaken  your  recollection,  child.  Re- 
member that  this  man  who  has  bewitched  you  with  his  arts 
has  ruined  the  Prince's  cause  here;  has  spied  upon  his 
friends,  and  holds  in  his  hands  the  safety  of  Tracy — of 
Rory  himself.  E'en  now  he  may  be  betraying  them — even 
now  Tracy's  life  may  be  at  stake." 

She  broke  off  suddenly  with  a  sob,  and  sinking  into  a  chair, 
wept  bitterly. 

With  a  little  cry  of  tenderness,  Celia  ran  to  her  side  and 
threw  her  arms  about  her.  "Laidie — mavourneen — ah!  do 
not  cry,"  she  pleaded.  "Indeed,  it  can't  be  as  you  think. 
If — if  Mr.  Curtis  has  indeed  disclosed  the  conspiracy  (which 
I  do  not  believe),  he  will  never  betray  Tracy — his  friend. 
Don't  cry,  Laidie." 

Adelaide  impatiently  threw  off  the  encircling  arm. 

"If — if — "  she  cried  angrily;  "you  do  not  believe?  You 
had  rather  see  Tracy  delivered  to  his  death  than  raise  a 
hand  to  help  me  to  save  him." 

"Help  you?  Laidie,  you  know  I  would  do  anything  to 
help  you,"  cried  Celia  reproachfully.  "What  can  I  do?" 

"You  can  bid  Mr.  Curtis  attend  the  ball  this  evening ;  fix 
a  rendezvous  with  him  at  the  Orange  Grove  at  half -past 
nine,"  said  Adelaide,  eyeing  her  closely. 


312 

Celia  started.  "I — I  should  do  this?"  she  cried  indig- 
nantly. 

"He  will  venture  for  no  other." 

"But  to  what  end,  Adelaide?" 

"To  the  end  that  he  may  meet  with  his  deserts  and  be 
silenced,"  she  answered  shortly. 

Celia  stood  looking  down  at  her  sister  with  a  queer  light 
in  her  eyes.  "Laidie,"  she  said  gently,  "you  don't  think 
what  you  are  saying.  Were  he  ten  thousand  times  traitor, 
that  were  no  reason  we  should  turn  traitor,  too.  I  could 
not  do  this  thing — you  could  not  ask  it  of  me." 

"Yet  I  do  ask  it  of  you — for  Tracy's  sake." 

"For  Tracy's  sake,"  Celia  repeated  slowly.  She  sank  on 
her  knees  beside  her  sister,  and  took  her  hands.  "Laidie, 
dearest,"  she  said  earnestly,  "I  would  give  my  life  for 
Tracy  if  I  might,  but  not  my  honour.  Tracy  himself 
would  not  have  it  so." 

Adelaide  snatched  her  hands  away.  Terror  and  misery 
had  made  her  brutal. 

"Your  honour — "  she  said  scornfully,  "  'tis  not  your 
honour,  miss,  that  holds  you,  but  your  love  for  this  black- 
hearted spy." 

Celia  flushed.  "I  do  love  him,"  she  said  steadily. 
"Whether  he  be  spy  or  no,  I  do  love  him.  Yet  if  he  be 
proved  true  I  would  deny  his  love  could  that  serve  Tracy, 
and  if  he  be  proved  spy  I  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  save 
him  from  death;  but  I  will  not  play  the  traitor  were  it  to 
save  the  whole  kingdom  from  ruin." 

"Or  your  sister  from  despair,"  cried  Adelaide  bitterly. 

Celia's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "Laidie,  dearest,  forgive 
me,"  she  pleaded.  "Indeed,  I  cannot  do  this  thing.  You 
know  I  do  surely  love  Tracy,  but " 


THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON  313 

"What  love  is  this  that  values  honour  more?" 

"  'Tis  the  only  love  worth  the  name,  Laidie,"  answered 
Celia  steadily.  "Love  without  honour  is  clay  without  soul. 
Dearest,  we  will  strive,  we  will  pray  for  Tracy's  safety; 
but  if  that  may  not  be,  better  then  we  should  die  great- 
heartedly  than  live  in  the  shadow  of  a  treachery." 

Adelaide  sprang  to  her  feet.     "And  such  is  your  love — 
she  cried  scornfully,  "cold — pale — the  love  of  a  coward. 
But  I — verily,  I  would  give  my  soul  to  save  Tracy  from 
one  moment's  sorrow." 

She  turned  toward  the  door.  Celia  sprang  after  her. 

"Laidie,"  she  cried  sharply,  "what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"That  which  you  dare  not — you  pale-hearted  chit!"  an- 
swered her  sister  furiously. 

"Betray  him?  Laidie,  you  shall  not.  Be  he  the  blackest 
traitor  unhung  you  shall  not  soil  your  hands  with  his  undo- 
ing." 

"Shall  not !    Who  is  to  prevent  me?" 

"I  will — if  necessary  I  will  warn  him." 

"You — "  Adelaide  seized  her  sister's  hands  in  a  vice. 
"Celia,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  fierce  tone,  "try  to  prevent  me 
if  you  dare !  Nay,  you  shall  not  dare !  I  will  lock  you  up 
here  till  night-time,  and  not  a  servant  shall  come  near  you. 
Oh !  I'll  have  no  warnings  sent,  I  warrant  you." 

Celia  made  no  attempt  to  struggle  in  her  sister's  grasp, 
but  she  lifted  pleading  eyes  to  hers.  "Laidie,"  she  said 
softly,  "mavourneen — you  are  cruel  to  me." 

Adelaide's  face  softened  suddenly.  She  put  her  arms 
round  her  sister,  and  stooped  to  kiss  the  pleading  face. 

"No,  Celia,"  she  said  resolutely,  "I  am  kind.  Tim  Curtis 
must  die,  and  you  shall  have  no  chance  to  prevent  his  death. 
For  even  were  Tracy's  life  not  at  stake,  I  would  do  this 


314  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

to  save  you  from  a  man  whom  all  but  you  know  to  be  a 
scoundrel." 

She  turned  suddenly  and  hastened  from  the  room.  Celia 
heard  the  lock  click  behind  her.  She  was  held  prisoner. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  rigid  where  her  sister  had  left 
her ;  then  she  sank  into  a  seat  by  the  harpsichord,  and  lean- 
ing her  head  on  her  arms  broke  into  bitter  weeping. 

It  was  not  her  sister's  severity  nor  the  helplessness  of  her 
position  that  overwhelmed  her,  that  turned  her  day  to  dark- 
ness and  killed  the  joy  in  her  heart.  In  her  ears  resounded 
again  and  again  those  parting  words  of  Adelaide :  "A  man 
whom  all  but  you  know  to  be  a  scoundrel." 

All  save  herself!  On  the  one  side  stood  the  assurance  of 
her  friends,  Lord  Pelham's  assertion,  Martha's  accusation, 
proofs  strong  indeed.  And  on  the  other  was  only  his  denial 
and  the  cry  of  her  own  heart. 

Ever  since  she  had  freed  him  at  Charity  Farm  her  belief 
in  his  honesty  had  grown.  She  had  rested  with  such  con- 
fidence on  his  promise  to  clear  himself.  After  that  magic 
hour  she  had  made  no  further  attempt  to  deny  her  love, 
but  had  given  free  rein  to  her  dreams  of  happiness. 

With  her  whole  soul  she  loved  him;  he  was  the  light  of 
her  life.  And  now  the  world  stood  between  her  and  her  love, 
and  all  her  life  was  darkened.  For  her  it  was  indeed  the 
"Dark  of  the  Moon." 

Bitterly  she  wept,  her  fair  face  hidden  in  the  dear  white 
hands,  pink-tipped  like  apple  blossoms ;  wept  her  heart  out 
over  her  broken  ideal. 

At  length  she  grew  calmer.  She  sat  up,  brushed  away 
her  curls,  and  surveyed  her  future.  No  light  dawned  on 
her  own  trouble ;  but  recollection  stirred  within  her  of  other 
sorrows  not  so  nearly  her  own. 


THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON      315 

She  rose,  and  slowly  paced  the  room.  What  could  she  do  ? 
Was  there  no  way  in  which  to  help  her  sister?  Adelaide 
had  asked  one  thing  of  her,  but  that  she  could  not  perform. 
Even  as  she  thought  of  it  a  horror  of  the  proposed  treach- 
ery shook  her.  Surely  not  for  any  man's  life  should  a 
woman  stoop  to  such  a  deed — luring  a  man  on  to  destruc- 
tion. Adelaide  was  indeed  desperate  to  dream  of  such  a 
crime.  Better  that  Tracy  should  die  a  thousand  times 
than  that  he  win  his  life  at  the  price  of  his  wife's  dishonour. 

"Ah,  no ! — no !"  she  whispered,  "she  must  not  do  it.  I 
must  plead  with  her  again." 

She  ran  to  the  door  and  then  stopped.  Too  well  she  knew 
her  sister's  resolution,  her  utter  devotion  to  Tracy's  wel- 
fare ;  what  word  of  hers  could  win  the  wife  from  what  she 
deemed  her  husband's  service? 

"I  must  send  him  warning,"  she  muttered  desperately.  "If 
— if  indeed  he  be  traitor  perchance  it  were  well  he — he 
died.  But — but  not  by  Laidie's  treachery.  I  must  warn 
him." 

She  stood  irresolute.  It  seemed  impossible  to  let  her  sis- 
ter commit  this  treachery,  impossible  to  let  the  man  she 
loved  be  lured  to  his  death.  And  yet,  if  he  were  indeed  the 
spy  they  called  him,  every  hour  he  went  free  held  danger 
for  the  conspirators.  Could  she  deliberately  endanger  her 
brother's  life  by  saving  his  enemy? 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  brow  with  a  little  cry  of 
despair.  "Ah,  God !  why  must  I  have  this  choice?  For  my 
love  I  will  plead  nothing,  but  between  a  sister's  honour  and 
a  brother's  life — ah,  God !  help  me,  for  Christ's  sake." 

Her  own  words  came  back  to  her.  "Better  die  great- 
heartedly  than  live  in  the  shadow  of  a  treachery."  Surely, 
surely,  honour  is  the  one  true  guide  through  life  —  else 


316  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

wherefore  live?  Yes,  her  path  was  clear.  She  must  save 
her  sister  from  this  crime  and  leave  the  rest  to  God. 

A  sudden  hope  came  to  her.  "I  will  warn  him,"  she  cried, 
"and  then  I  will  go  to  him  and  stoop  to  plead  with  him 
for  Tracy's  life.  Perchance,  if  he  indeed  love  me  he  will 
grant  what  I  ask ;  if  not — if  not — and  he  still  desire  me — 
why,  I  am  beautiful — it  may  be  my  hand  in  marriage  will 
purchase  what  I  crave." 

She  stood  a  moment  silent.  "I  did  not  think  I  could  wed 
a  traitor,"  she  said  slowly,  "yet  if  he  be  a  traitor  and  ask 
that  price — I  will  pay  it." 

Then  a  little  smile  brightened  her  eyes.  "Perhaps—"  she 
whispered  very  softly,  "perhaps  God  may  yet  prove  him  a 
true  man." 

Her  resolution  was  taken,  but  now  she  stood  at  pause  how 
to  carry  it  out.  Adelaide  must  know  nothing  of  the  warn- 
ing, and  the  difficulty  of  employing  a  servant  to  take  her 
message  in  the  teeth  of  her  sister's  watchful  suspicion  stag- 
gered her. 

She  tried  the  door ;  but  the  lock  held  firm.  She  ran  to  the 
window,  which  overlooked  a  small  strip  of  garden  behind 
the  house,  and  peered  down  in  the  vain  hope  of  escape  in 
that  direction.  No  chance  offered.  She  drew  back  baffled, 
and  sat  down  on  the  wide  window  seat  to  think  out  her  plan. 

The  various  noises  of  the  street  came  up  to  her  muffled  by 
distance;  but  the  house  itself  was  very  quiet.  The  silence 
worried  her  unstrung  nerves ;  there  was  no  sound  audible 
save  the  loud  tick  of  the  landing  clock,  and — and — what 
was  that  other  sound  unnoted  before  in  the  agony  of  her 
struggle,  but  now  clear,  distinct  in  the  stillness — that  low, 
crooning  song  just  below  her  window? 

She  leaned  out  and  peered  down  through  the  closely  inter- 


THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON  317 

twined  branches  of  the  elm  tree  at  her  right  hand. 
Through  the  shimmer  of  the  leaves  she  caught  a  glimmer  of 
grey  and  gold  and  a  black  curly  head.  It  was  Adelaide's 
tiny  black  page — the  little  nine-year-old  negro  boy  who 
carried  her  fan  and  salts  when  she  walked  abroad,  and  who 
was  alternately  spoiled  and  tormented  by  the  household. 
No  lady  of  fashion  was  without  her  black  page,  but  Ade- 
laide had  small  liking  for  the  boy  and  used  his  services  but 
lightly. 

Celia's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  hope ;  here  was  the  messenger 
she  sought.  She  leaned  further  from  the  window :  "Sam," 
she  called  softly,  "Sam,  what  are  you  doing  there?" 

There  was  a  quick  rustle  among  the  leaves,  a  dark  face 
looked  out  at  her  doubtfully,  evidently  expecting  rebuke, 
Celia  put  her  fan  to  her  lips  to  enjoin  silence. 

"Sam,  be  a  good  boy,  and  listen  to  me,"  she  said  brightly. 
"I  want  you  to  carry  a  message  for  me.  'Tis  secret.  Will 
you  serve  me?" 

Sambo's  eyes  brightened.  He  nodded  readily.  "Yes,  my 
lady,"  he  said  eagerly. 

Celia  hesitated.  "Lady  Wimbourne  must  not  know  of 
it.  No  one  must  see  you  leave  the  house.  You  must  slip 
out  when  you  can  do  so  unobserved.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  answered  the  boy,  preparing  to  climb 
down  the  tree. 

"Wait,  child,  you  have  not  learned  my  errand.  Do  you 
know  where  Mr.  Curtis  lodges  in  Boat-Stall  Lane?" 

"No,  my  lady,"  answered  the  boy  stolidly. 

"But  you  can  find  out  ?" 

"No,  my  lady,"  he  repeated. 

"No!    Why  not,  pray?" 

"Not  knowing  Boat-Stall  Lane.    Not  knowing  Bath.    Not 


318  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

wanting  to  ask,"  answered  the  boy,  with  frightened  eyes 
and  lips  trembling  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"But  cannot  you  adventure?"  cried  Celia  desperately. 

"No,  my  lady,"  he  repeated  obstinately. 

Celia  gave  a  cry  of  impatience.  She  knew  the  helplessness 
of  this  pampered  little  negro — one  check  or  difficulty,  and 
he  would  abandon  his  errand  and  resort  to  lies  to  escape 
punishment.  It  was  useless  to  insist. 

For  a  moment  she  was  checked;  then  fresh  inspiration 
came. 

"Sam,  listen.  You  know  where  Lady  de  Putren  lives? 
JTis  but  four  doors  from  here?" 

The  boy  nodded,  his  face  brightened. 

"Take  me  a  note  to  her  house  and  I  will  give  you  a 
shilling." 

"A  shilling !"    He  held  out  his  hand  eagerly. 

"No,  no.  You  must  take  the  note  first.  If  it  reach  her 
safely  before  six  o'  the  clock  you  shall  have  the  money. 
You  understand?" 

She  turned  to  the  bureau  and  hastily  wrote  a  line  to  Lucy 
de  Putren. 

"For  pity's  sake,  Lucy,  warn  Mr.  Curtis  not  to  adventure 
to  the  Rooms  to-night.  There  is  a  plot  afoot  for  his  un- 
doing and  I  cannot  get  at  him  with  my  warning." 

She  sealed  the  note  and  dropped  it  down  to  the  boy.  It 
was  a  slender  hope,  but  no  other  help  offered.  She  gave 
the  child  a  box  of  sweetmeats  as  earnest  of  further  reward, 
and  he  slipped  down  the  tree  and  disappeared  into  the 
house. 

A  few  minutes  later  she  heard  steps  approaching  the  door. 

The  key  turned  in  the  lock.  Adelaide  entered,  followed 
by  her  maid. 


THE  DARK  OF  THE  MOON  319 

"Do  you  feel  recovered,  Celia?"  she  asked,  keeping  up 
before  the  maid  the  fiction  of  ill-health  she  had  rumoured 
below  as  the  cause  of  her  sister's  retirement. 

"Perfectly,  Laidie,"  answered  Celia  gently.  "I  hope  you 
will  permit  me  to  go  to  the  Assembly." 

She  feared  her  sister  might  refuse  her  request ;  but  Ade- 
laide agreed  willingly.  It  was  necessary  that  Celia  should 
be  at  the  Rooms  to  keep  Timothy  Curtis  there  until  the  ap- 
pointed hour. 

"Come  and  dress  in  my  room  to-night,  as  Tracy  is  away," 
said  Adelaide.  Celia  saw  that  she  was  to  be  given  no  op- 
portunity for  private  speech  with  her  maid,  but  she  fol- 
lowed her  sister  without  objection. 

As  they  turned  the  corner  of  the  stairs  she  looked  back. 
She  caught  a  vision  of  a  small  grey  and  gold  figure  slip 
through  the  hall  door  and  dart  down  the  steps,  and  her 
heart  found  a  mite  of  comfort.  If  the  letter  reached  Lucy 
de  Putren,  she  knew  her  friend  would  not  fail  her;  and  if 
the  message  went  astray  she  herself  would  be  at  the  Rooms 
and  free  to  use  her  wits  to  save  Timothy  from  the  threaten- 
ing danger. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING 

TIMOTHY  CURTIS  took  Rathborne's  advice  and  kept  house 
all  Tuesday.  He  guessed  shrewdly  what  would  be  the  rage 
of  the  conspirators  at  the  betrayal  of  their  plot,  and  he  had 
sufficient  fear  of  their  vengeance  to  determine  him  to  avoid 
their  company  until  Rathborne's  return  should  clear  him 
from  all  suspicion. 

But  the  whereabouts  of  the  stolen  papers  puzzled  him 
greatly.  Both  Rory  and  Josiah  Smith  had  denied  all 
knowledge  of  them ;  it  was  clear  that  a  third  hand  had  been 
at  work.  Had  the  thief  taken  them  to  sell  to  the  govern- 
ment or  to  hold  as  a  threat  over  Tracy  Wimbourne?  In 
either  case  it  was  imperative  that  he  be  foiled.  Timothy  re- 
solved not  to  hold  himself  quit  of  his  task  until  he  could 
return  the  papers  safely  to  their  owner. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  a  footman  in  the  grey 
and  gold  liveries  of  the  Wimbournes  delivered  a  note  at 
Timothy's  lodging,  instructing  Simon  to  give  it  at  once 
into  the  hands  of  his  master.  Tim  opened  it  eagerly,  smil- 
ing at  the  sentiment  which  moved  him  to  keep  the  C.  W. 
of  the  seal  intact.  The  contents  were  brief. 

"I  must  see  you  again.  I  give  you  my  trust.  Come  to 
me  at  the  Rooms  to-night  at  the  tea  hour  and  I  will  give  you 
what  you  have  craved  so  long,  if  your  forgiving  pity  can 
find  pardon  for  my  doubts.  C.  W." 

Timothy  read  the  note  with  a  smile  of  happiness  in  his 
eyes.  He  folded  it  carefully  and  put  it  in  his  inner  pocket 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING 

beside  the  bracelet  he  carried.     His  face  was  alight  with 
triumph. 

His  love  had  conquered  at  last !  She  had  obeyed  her  heart ; 
without  further  assurance,  against  all  her  world,  she  had 
yielded  him  her  trust.  He  prayed  that  he  might  prove 
worthy  to  hold  it  untarnished  forever. 

He  dined  alone,  impatient  for  the  appointed  hour.  Half 
way  through  dinner  a  letter  was  brought  to  him  from  Lucy 
de  Putren.  It  was  hurriedly  scrawled,  evidently  in  the 
midst  of  the  lady's  toilet,  for  it  was  plentifully  besprinkled 
with  powder. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,"  it  ran,  "do  not  allow  even  Cupid 
himself  to  lead  you  to  the  Rooms  to-night.  There  is  a  plot 
afoot  for  your  undoing  and  disgrace.  And  you  be  not 
wholly  crazy,  keep  house. 

"Your  well-wisher  in  truth, 

"LUCY  DE  PUTBEN." 

Timothy  read  the  hurried  lines  and  his  brow  grew  troubled. 
Lucy  de  Putren  was  not  a  woman  to  take  unnecessary 
fright.  It  might  well  prove  she  had  good  reason  for  her 
warning.  He  could  guess  the  temper  of  his  opponents.  For 
a  moment  he  was  almost  moved  (standing  as  he  did  within 
an  ace  of  safety)  to  take  the  proffered  advice  and  avoid 
danger  until  Rathborne's  return.  Prudence  clearly  urged 
him  to  this  course.  But  prudence  hath  a  homely  face 
mightily  unattractive.  Tim  took  out  Celia's  letter  and  re- 
read it;  he  needed  no  further  spur  to  his  resolve.  If  she 
could  find  courage  to  trust  him  in  face  of  all  her  world,  he 
would  let  no  fears  hold  him  back  from  obedience  to  her 
call.  Crazy  it  might  be,  but  she  should  not  find  him  lag- 
gard. 


She  had  called  him!  Again  the  look  of  triumph  lighted 
his  eyes.  With  a  laugh  he  tossed  Lucy  de  Putren's  note 
into  the  grate,  and  summoning  Simon,  proceeded  to  dress 
for  the  Assembly.  Though  all  the  ravens  of  Christendom 
croaked  his  doom,  he  would  not  turn  from  his  path. 

He  arrived  at  the  Rooms  about  nine  o'clock  without  mis- 
adventure. The  first  person  he  encountered  upon  entering 
was  Lucy  de  Putren  herself.  She  started  at  sight  of  him, 
and,  leaving  her  companion,  crossed  to  his  side. 

"Mr.  Curtis — you  received  my  note?  Are  you  clean 
crazed?" 

He  laughed  lightly.  "Do  not  hold  me  ingrate,  madam. 
But  I  have  matter  of  import  to  bring  me  here." 

"Heaven  grant  no  evil  come  of  your  madness  then.  There 
must  be  some  stuff  in  the  count  of  your  danger,  for  Celia 
entreated  me  to  warn  you  to  keep  house." 

"Celia?    Why,  'twas  she  herself  bade  me  come  here." 

Lucy  stared  at  him  doubtfully.     "If  that  be  so,  I  under 
stand  nothing  of  the  matter.    It  seems  she  has  changed  her 
mind.     But  be  advised  for  once,  Mr.  Curtis.    Go  home." 

Tim  looked  round  the  crowded  rooms.  His  eyes  encoun- 
tered those  of  Roger  Lee  watching  him  suspiciously  from 
a  distant  doorway.  A  sudden  feeling  of  reckless  defiance 
overmastered  him. 

"Go  home?  Not  I,  madam,"  he  laughed.  "A  wise  man  will 
go  to  meet  danger ;  if  he  run  away  he  may  be  stabbed  in  the 
back." 

"As  well  seek  haste  from  a  snail  as  wisdom  from  a  lover," 
sighed  Lucy.  "Go  your  ways,  wise  man — Heaven  protects 
her  fools." 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  I  am  like  to  find  Celia?"  he  asked. 

Lucy  looked  round  and  shook  her  head.     "Lady  Wim- 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING     323 

bourne  turned  faint  ten  minutes  since  and  withdrew  to  the 
small  card  room.  It  is  like  enough  Celia  is  with  her." 

He  thanked  her  and  turned  to  make  his  way  through  the 
crowd  to  the  room  indicated.  His  progress  was  slow,  for 
the  throng  was  great,  and  many  stopped  him  to  interchange 
greetings  and  news.  It  was  fully  ten  minutes  before  he 
reached  the  door  of  the  little  card  room.  As  he  lifted  the 
curtain  to  enter  he  encountered  Lord  Robert  Dacre  emerg- 
ing with  Celia  on  his  arm. 

Celia  stopped  dead  at  sight  of  him.  Her  face  grew  white 
to  the  lips.  "Mr.  Curtis!  You  here?"  she  faltered. 
"What  brings  you?" 

Timothy  looked  at  her  with  sudden  suspicion  dawning  in 
his  eyes.  "Your  note,  madam ;  your  note  to  me.  You  bade 
me  come."  • 

Celia  stood  silent,  biting  her  lip  in  indecision,  reluctant  to 
betray  her  sister,  hating  the  falsehood  implied  by  her  si- 
lence. Lord  Robert  intervened. 

"The  music  has  commenced,  madam.  We  shall  lose  our 
place,"  he  urged  courteously. 

Celia  turned  to  Tim  with  sudden  resolution.  "Mr.  Cur- 
tis, I — I  wish  to  speak  to  you.  Will  you  await  me  here  un- 
til the  dance  is  ended?" 

"I  am  always  at  your  service,  madam,"  he  answered. 

Lord  Robert  hurried  her  away,  leaving  Tim  staring  after 
her  with  puzzled  brows. 

He  turned  and  entered  the  card  room.  Adelaide  was  there 
alone,  leaning  back  in  a  cushioned  chair.  She  looked 
ghastly,  but  when  he  made  a  motion  to  withdraw  she  held 
out  her  hand  quickly  to  prevent  him. 

"Stay — Mr.  Curtis — I — I  need  your  help." 

With  a  look  of  concern  Tim  crossed  quickly  to  her  side. 


THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

"What  can  I  do,  Lady  Wimbourne?  Shall  I  call  your 
sister?  A  glass  of  wine " 

"No,  no,"  she  cried  impatiently.  "My  faintness  has 
passed.  I — pray  sit  down,  Mr.  Curtis — I — I  can  speak 
better  so " 

Tim  took  a  seat  beside  her,  looking  at  her  with  puzzled 
brows.  Adelaide  did  not  meet  his  eyes.  She  sat,  twisting 
her  fingers  nervously  together  and  breathing  quickly. 

"Mr.  Curtis — "  she  said  at  last,  "do  you  hold  it  ever  justi- 
fiable to  take  the  life  of  a  villain  ?" 

Tim  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "Why,  yes,  madam,  on  occa- 
sion I  take  it  a  man  holds  his  sword  that  he  may  clear  the 
earth  of  vermin." 

"Then  if  you  knew  a  man  deserving  of  death  you  would 
kill  him?" 

Timothy  laughed.  "Not  quite  so,  madam.  I'm  no  butcher. 
And  'tis  no  light  undertaking  to  write  any  man  down  a 
thorough  rascal.  I  take  it  few  of  us  would  cumber  the 
earth  long  if  we  had  our  deserts." 

"Yet  if  you  knew  a  man  to  be  a  traitor,  disloyal  to  friend- 
ship, false  to  his  word,  cruel  to  a  woman — would  you  hold 
yourself  justified  in  killing  him  then?" 

He  thought  a  moment.  "Yes,  madam,"  he  answered 
slowly.  "In  fair  fight  and  with  no  favour  I'd  do  my  best 
to  rid  the  earth  of  such  an  one." 

"In  fair  fight,"  she  muttered.  "Mr.  Curtis — they  say 
you  are  unmatched  with  the  rapier." 

Timothy  flushed.  "I — I've  enjoyed  rare  occasion  for 
practice,  madam,"  he  explained  apologetically. 

She  nodded.  "I  need  the  help  of  such  a  sword  as  yours. 
Mr.  Curtis,  at  half-past  nine  there  will  be  waiting  at  the 
corner  of  the  Orange  Grove  a  man — even  such  a  man  as  I 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING    325 

have  described.  He  must  be  killed.  Ah!  wait — listen — " 
she  cried  quickly,  as  Tim  started  back  with  a  gesture  of 
repugnance.  "This  man  is  false,  cruel.  While  he  lives 
there  can  be  no  peace,  no  happiness  for  me  in  life,  no  safety 
for  Tracy.  His  life  shadows  ours  like  a  cloud,  threatening 
every  moment  to  whelm  us  in  destruction.  He  has  no  pity, 
no  remorse.  Does  not  such  an  one  deserve  his  death?" 

Timothy  hesitated.  "Cannot  you  be  more  explicit, 
madam?"  he  urged.  "I  am  at  your  service,  but — 'twould 
seem  this  is  a  matter  rather  for  Tracy's  judgment." 

"Tracy !  What  can  he  do  ?  He  is  not  yet  recovered  from 
his  accident.  Moreover,  as  you  know  well,  he  is  no  swords- 
man." 

"Nevertheless,  madam,  I  don't  hold  he  would  relish  my 
interference  with  his  affairs." 

Adelaide  sat  upright,  and  put  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "Mr. 
Curtis — I'll  be  frank  with  you.  Tracy  must  know  noth- 
ing of  this  affair.  No  man  save  you  can  give  me  the  help 
I  need.  'Twas  for  that  reason  I  sent  you  that  note,  pur- 
porting to  be  from  Celia,  to  draw  you  here  to-night." 

Tim  started.  "You  did  that,  madam?"  he  said  slowly. 
The  shadow  of  disappointment  darkened  his  eyes.  "Then 
Miss  Winnington " 

"Knows  nothing  of  the  affair,  and  holds  you  still — as  we 
all  do — an  enemy  of  the  Jacobite  cause.  But  whatever  you 
may  have  done  against  that  cause  you  have  a  ready  sword 
arm,  and  can  keep  a  silent  tongue,  and  'tis  for  those  rea- 
sons I  must  have  your  help  to-night.  Ah !  surely  you  can- 
not deny  me.  I  am  crazy  for  lack  of  hope,  and  should  you 
fail  me —  Ah !  'tis  but  ten  minutes  to  the  trysting  time,  and 
if  the  villain  die  not  to-night  our  lives  must  be  darkened  for- 
ever. Surely — surely  you  cannot  deny  me." 


326 

Timothy  eyed  her  in  amazement.  She  looked  almost  dis- 
tracted with  fears.  The  whole  affair  was  a  mystery  to  him, 
but  it  seemed  she  was  indeed  in  need  of  succour. 

"You  would  have  me  go  to  the  Orange  Grove,  meet  this 
fellow,  pick  a  quarrel  with  him  and  kill  him?"  he  asked 
slowly;  "is  that  your  wish?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said  eagerly;  "you  —  you  carry  a 
sword." 

"Not  here,  madam,  but  one  is  easily  procurable  at  Simp- 
son's. Are  you  sure  the  man  will  be  there  ?" 

"Yes.  I — I  was  to  have  gone  there,  too,  to  meet  him ;  but 
— I  cannot." 

"How  should  I  know  him?" 

"He  will  be  waiting  in  the  shadow  of  that  group  of  elms 
at  the  west  corner  of  the  grove.  When  you  reach  the  place 
whistle — so — and  he  will  come  out  to  you." 

Tim  frowned.  "  'Tis  a  mighty  distasteful  affair,"  he 
muttered. 

"Ah!    But  you  will  do  it?"  she  pleaded. 

"I  do  not  know  why  I  should,  madam,"  he  began  slowly. 

"Why — ?  Because  I  am  a  woman — and  in  trouble — and 
I  ask  your  help." 

He  bowed.  "I  yield,  Lady  Wimbourne.  I  can't  refuse 
you  the  use  of  my  sword — if  indeed  you  insist  on  the  ras- 
cal's death.  But — I  cannot  have  any  cut-throat  work,  you 
understand,  madam.  We  must  meet  in  fair  fight.  Will 
that  satisfy  you?" 

"It  is  all  I  ask.  Now  go — go — I  entreat  you,  or  you  will 
be  too  late." 

Timothy  hesitated.  "I  promised  to  meet  your  sister  here 
when  the  dance  is  ended,"  he  began  slowly. 

"I   will   explain   your   absence,"    said   Adelaide    readily. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING    327 

"Come — come  to  St.  James's  parade  to-morrow  morning. 
You  shall  talk  with  her  then." 

He  looked  at  her  eagerly.  "You  permit  that,  Lady  Wim- 
bourne?  Then  I  will  delay  no  longer  now." 

Without  more  words  he  left  her,  strode  down  the  passage 
at  the  back  of  the  Assembly  Room,  and  so  out  of  the  side 
door  on  to  the  terrace.  He  was  bitterly  disappointed  to  find 
that  Celia  still  apparently  withheld  her  trust,  but  his  pres- 
ent service  fully  occupied  his  thoughts ;  he  would  not  waste 
time  on  regrets  for  what  might  not  be. 

Left  alone,  Adelaide  Wimbourne  sank  back  in  her  chair 
and  pressed  her  hands  to  her  forehead  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
She  had  succeeded  in  the  task  she  had  undertaken.  Timothy 
Curtis  had  gone  forth  to  the  ambuscade  prepared  for  him ; 
fifteen  minutes  more  and  he  would  be  lying  dead. 

She  had  succeeded,  her  husband's  safety  was  secured,  her 
anxieties  on  that  head  were  ended,  and  now  came  the  re- 
action. 

As  she  sat  in  the  brightly  lighted  little  card  room  listening 
to  the  distant  music  of  the  dance,  slowly  the  scene  of  the 
murder  shaped  itself  in  her  mind.  She  saw,  as  in  a  vision, 
Timothy  Curtis  hurrying  through  the  grove  intent  upon 
his  errand  to  save  her  from  despair.  She  saw  him  pause 
by  the  dark,  many-branched  clump  of  elms,  heard  him  give 
the  signal  for  his  own  destruction.  She  saw  the  lurking 
figures,  the  gleam  of  a  dagger,  the  dull  red  stain  crimson- 
ing the  white  brocade.  One  low,  choking  groan  broke  the 
stillness — then  fell  that  heavy  silence  which  can  never  more 
be  broken. 

That  awful,  unbreakable  silence!  It  was  about  her  now, 
pressing  her  down,  crushing  her,  forcing  upon  her  fearful 
soul  the  realisation  of  the  irretrievable  nature  of  the  deed 


828  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

that  she  had  done.  'Twas  but  the  cessation  of  the  dance- 
music,  the  closing  of  a  door  twixt  her  and  the  revellers,  but 
the  silence  touched  her  unstrung  nerves  with  a  sudden  un- 
controllable horror.  What  had  she  done?  Ah!  what  had 
she  done? 

Her  resolution  had  served  her  while  there  was  still  need 
for  her  wit  and  resource,  now  that  her  work  was  over  it 
failed.  Her  self-control  vanished.  A  terror  of  the  betrayal 
overwhelmed  her.  She  had  killed  a  man — killed  him  as 
surely  as  if  she  had  herself  borne  the  dagger,  and  now  she 
was  alone — alone — in  a  horror  of  death-like  stillness. 

The  curtain  over  the  doorway  was  lifted,  Celia  appeared  in 
the  entrance.  With  a  scream,  Adelaide  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes. 

"Go  away,"  she  cried,  "go  away —  Do  not  look  at  me  so. 
I — I  have  killed  him." 

Celia's  heart  gave  a  great  leap  of  fear,  but  her  wit  did 
not  desert  her.  She  turned  quickly  to  Lord  Robert,  who 
was  at  her  elbow. 

"My  sister  is  not  well,"  she  said  hurriedly ;  "will  you  ask 
Lady  de  Putren  to  come  to  me  here?" 

Lord  Robert  looked  anxiously  across  at  Adelaide.  "Can 
I  not  assist  you — "  he  began. 

"No — no — 'tis  but  an  attack  of  hysteria.  Lady  de  Putren 
and  I  will  take  her  home  if  you  will  call  a  coach.  Go 
quickly,  I  entreat  you,  sir." 

He  could  raise  no  further  objection,  but  departed  reluc- 
tantly in  search  of  Lady  de  Putren.  Celia  crossed  to  Ade- 
laide and  put  her  hands  firmly  on  her  shoulders. 

"Laidie,"  she  said,  very  quietly,  "tell  me  what  you  have 
done." 

"I  have  sent  Mr.  Curtis  to  an  ambuscade  in  the  grove. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING     329 

They  will  kill  him,"  she  moaned.  Suddenly  she  dropped  her 
hands  and  clung  to  Celia,  her  eyes  wide  with  horror. 
"Celia — "  she  cried,  "I  have  killed  him — I — !  All  my  days 
I  must  go  through  the  world  knowing  that  I  have  killed  a 
man." 

Celia's  face  was  as  white  as  her  sister's,  but  her  steadfast 
courage  never  failed  her. 

"No — no — Laidie,"  she  said  soothingly,  "I  will  save  him. 
God  will  help  me  to  do  it.  There  is  yet  time.  But  do  you 
be  quiet,  darling ;  no  one  must  hear  of  this,  or  we  are  indeed 
undone.  I  must  go — go  at  once.  Can  I  leave  you?  Can 
you  be  quiet — be  brave?" 

"Yes — yes — "  cried  Adelaide.  "See — I  am  quiet  now;  I 
will  be  controlled.  Only  do  you  go  and  save  him." 

"When  Lucy  comes  tell  her  you  are  faint — tell  her  I — 
have  gone  for  wine.  Ah !  be  brave,  Laidie,  or  Heaven  only 
knows  what  may  befall  us." 

She  dared  wait  no  longer ;  horror  of  what  might  even  now 
be  passing  in  the  shadowed  grove  shook  her  heart.  She 
pushed  her  sister  gently  back  into  a  chair,  and  ran  down 
the  passage  and  out  into  the  darkness  of  the  terrace  walk. 

When  Lucy  de  Putren,  escorted  by  Lord  Robert,  hurried 
into  the  small  card  room,  she  was  shocked  by  the  ghastliness 
of  Adelaide's  face.  Her  shreAvd  eyes  divined  at  once  that 
more  than  a  simple  fainting  fit  lay  at  the  bottom  of  her 
friend's  disturbance,  but  with  ready  tact  she  followed  Ade- 
laide's lead  and  administered  salts  and  restoratives  with  de- 
voted zeal,  puzzling  her  wits  to  account  for  Celia's  mysteri- 
ous absence  and  Lord  Robert's  evident  anxiety. 

As  for  Lord  Robert,  he  hovered  over  the  couple  with  the 
most  assiduous  attentions,  advancing  ready  excuse  for 
every  errand  on  which  Lucy  vainly  endeavoured  to  despatch 


330  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

him,  evidently  resolved  not  to  leave  the  two  women  alone 
together. 

A  sound  of  voices  echoed  in  the  passage,  a  footman  entered 
hurriedly  and  crossed  to  Lord  Robert's  side. 

"My  lord,"  he  said  softly,  "Sir  Tracy  Wimbourne  is  at 
the  outer  door  and  wishes  to  speak  with  you  on  urgent 
affairs." 

Adelaide  sprang  to  her  feet.  "Tracy !  Here !"  she  cried. 
"Ah !  bring  him  to  me.  Why  does  he  not  come  to  me  ?" 

"He  is  not  powdered,  my  lady,"  began  the  footman. 

"What  does  that  matter?  Bid  him  come  in.  Or  I  will  go 
to  him — "  She  stepped  toward  the  door ;  Lucy  laid  a  de- 
taining hand  on  her  arm. 

"Wait,  Adelaide;  he  can  come  to  you  here,  by  the  side 
door.  Go — bring  him  in,  Lord  Robert." 

Lord  Robert  hesitated,  looking  doubtfully  at  Adelaide. 
Lucy  stamped  her  foot. 

"Lud!  my  lord,  you're  monstrous  tardy  to-night.  You 
fellow — "  she  added  sharply,  turning  to  the  servant,  "tell 
Sir  Tracy  Lady  Wimbourne  wishes  his  company  here  at 
once." 

The  footman  departed.  Lord  Robert  followed  him  to  the 
door,  hesitated,  then  turned  and  crossed  to  Adelaide's  side. 

"Madam,"  he  whispered  sharply,  "keep  the  affair  secret 
from  your  husband.  'Tis  imperative  he  should  not  hear 
of  it." 

Lucy  watched  the  whispering  couple  with  curious  eyes. 

"My  stars!"  she  muttered,  "here's  a  mystery.  It  seems 
my  company  is  no  longer  desired." 

She  was  strongly  tempted  to  stay  and  probe  the  mystery, 
but  her  kindly  heart  forbade  such  unnecessary  prying. 
With  a  sigh  of  unsatisfied  curiosity  she  slipped  quietly 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING     331 

through  the  door  and  rejoined  the  company  in  the  Assembly 
Room. 

Neither  Adelaide  nor  Lord  Robert  noted  her  departure. 
The  latter  continued  to  urge  his  wish. 

"You  understand,  madam,  Tracy  must  not  be  told.  'Tis 
his  life  or  Curtis's.  You  will  be  silent." 

"I  do  not  know —  "  muttered  Adelaide  absently,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  door.  "Perchance  he  will " 

The  curtain  was  raised.  Tracy  entered  briskly,  followed 
by  Charles  Rathborne.  Both  men  were  booted  and  spurred, 
and  stained  with  the  dust  of  the  roads.  With  a  cry  of  joy 
Adelaide  sprang  toward  her  husband. 

"Tracy — Tracy —  Ah!  you  have  come  at  last!"  She 
clung  to  him  in  a  passion  of  weeping. 

"Why,  Heaven  help  us,  Laidie,  what's  amiss?"  cried  Tracy 
in  bewilderment,  soothing  her  tenderly.  "Have  you  been  so 
fearful  for  my  safety,  Little  Faint-heart?" 

Marcus  Ormonde  and  Oliver  Shirley  entered  hurriedly. 
They  stopped  in  amazement  at  sight  of  Adelaide  and  turned 
to  leave  the  room.  Tracy  stopped  them  with  a  gesture. 

"Wait!  I  sent  for  you  here — ?  I  must  speak  to  you  at 
once.  Laidie,  sweetheart,  calm  yourself.  There  is  no 
more  cause  to  fear  now." 

"Tracy — you  don't  know — Mr.  Curtis " 

"Tim !  What  has  happened  to  him  ?"  He  turned  to  the 
men.  "Gentlemen,  that  is  the  gist  of  my  business  with  you. 
We  have  done  Tim  a  monstrous  wrong.  He  is  no  spy — he 
is  innocent." 

Lord  Robert  started  back  with  a  cry.  "Innocent!  My 
God!  Tracy — you  are  convinced?" 

Charles  and  I  have  full  proofs  of  his  honesty.  We  will 
give  them  to  you  later.  The  true  spy,  the  man  who  be- 


332  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

trayed  our  plans,  has  met  with  his  deserts.     Tim  Curtis  is 
innocent  of  all  injury  to  the  cause." 

Lord  Robert  jerked  out  his  watch;  he  glanced  at  it  and 
without  another  word  dashed  for  the  door,  followed  by  Mar- 
cus Ormonde. 

A  long  shuddering  sigh  broke  from  Adelaide's  lips. 

"Tracy,"  she  cried  hoarsely,  "he's  no  traitor?  And  now — 
even  now,  they  are  killing  him  in  the  grove." 

"Killing  him  ?  Whom  ?  Tim  Curtis  ?  Adelaide — you  are 
crazy." 

"No — no — it  is  true.  They  are  killing  him,  and  I  sent 
him  there — to  his  death." 

She  sank  into  a  chair  and  broke  into  bitter  weeping. 
Tracy  paid  no  heed  to  her.  His  face  was  white  and  set,  his 
eyes  terrible  in  their  rage.  "Is  this  true  ?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  Oliver  Shirley. 

Oliver  shook  his  head,  his  face  was  very  grave.  "I  knew 
nothing  of  it,  but — Bob  and  Marcus  must  have  gone  to  pre- 
vent it.  Heaven  grant  they  are  in  time." 

Without  a  word  Tracy  strode  out  of  the  room.  Oliver 
turned  to  follow,  then  he  stopped  and  looked  at  Adelaide. 
He  stood  a  moment  irresolute,  then  crossed  to  her  side. 

"Madam,"  he  said  gently,  "for  pity's  sake,  madam,  don't 
cry.  Be  comforted.  Surely  they  will  be  in  time." 

She  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet.  "Take  me  to  them,"  she 
muttered,  "take  me  to  Tracy." 

"Ah !  no.    Not  yet.    Wait  here,  madam,  till  he  return." 

"No — I  must  follow  them.     Celia  is  there." 

"Celia!"  His  face  flushed.  She  is  there?  Alone?  You 
are  right,  madam,  you  must  go  to  her.  Do  you  wait  here 
while  I  bring  your  cloak,  then  I  will  take  you  to  seek  her." 

He  hurried  in  search  of  her  cloak.     She  stood  by  the  door 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING     333 

white-faced,  rigid,  waiting  in  a  frenzy  of  impatience  for 
his  return. 

Meanwhile,  Celia,  her  heart  beating  wildly  with  terror, 
hurried  along  the  deserted  terrace  in  the  direction  of  the 
shadowed  grove.  The  night  was  very  dark,  her  thin  san- 
dals made  no  sound  as  she  ran  along  the  walk,  none  noted 
her  passing.  A  little  way  beyond  the  entrance  to  the  grove 
she  paused,  peering  through  the  shadows,  straining  her  ears 
to  catch  the  slightest  sound.  She  was  trembling  in  every 
limb,  her  breath  came  in  little  frightened  gasps.  All  was 
still  save  the  tinkling  of  the  fountain,  the  rustle  of  the 
leaves  overhead.  She  ran  further,  bending  her  steps 
toward  the  thickest  corner  of  the  grove. 

Again  she  paused  to  listen.  Footsteps  echoed  behind  her, 
crunching  on  the  gravelled  walk.  She  turned  and  saw  a 
white  figure  moving  toward  her  between  the  black  trunks 
of  the  branching  trees.  Shaking  with  fear  she  drew  back 
into  the  shadow  and  waited  until  he  was  abreast  of  her,  then 
with  a  little  cry  of  joy  she  sprang  to  his  side. 

"Mr.  Curtis!     Ah!  thank  Heaven,  you  are  safe!" 

He  started  back  with  an  exclamation  of  amazement. 

"Celia !  you  here !    Great  heavens  !" 

She  caught  his  arm.  "Ah !  come  away  quickly — quickly," 
she  whispered ;  "there  is  a  plot  to  kill  you  here — an  ambus- 
cade. Any  moment  they  may  be  upon  us." 

"And  you  have  come  to  warn  me?"    Alone?" 

"Yes — yes.  But,  ah!  don't  tarry  to  question.  Come 
away." 

The  sound  of  their  whispering  voices  echoed  through  the 
stillness.  A  dark  figure  stole  from  behind  a  neighbouring 
elm  and  crept  silently  toward  them,  keeping  in  the  shadow 
of  the  trees. 


334 

Tim  stood  looking  down  at  the  dim  figure  of  the  girl  at 
his  side.  Again  the  smile  of  triumph  shone  in  his  eyes. 

"Celia,"  he  said  softly,  "you  came  to  warn  me?  You  give 
me  your  trust  at  last?" 

"I — I  came  to  save  your  life,"  she  said  quickly,  pulling 
at  his  arm. 

"Because  you  trust  me?" 

"Because  I  love  you.    And  Adelaide — " 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  disappointment.  "Celia,  hare  I  not 
yet  won  your  trust  ?" 

"Ah !  come,  come,"  she  pleaded ;  "there  is  danger." 

The  lurking  figure  drew  nearer,  stealing  silently  across 
the  grass. 

Tim  gave  a  low  laugh.  "Danger!  What's  that  to  me 
now?  Your  trust  or  your  disbelief  is  life  and  death  to 
me.  If  you  cannot  trust  me,  what's  my  life?" 

"There — there  are  so  many  proofs,"  she  answered,  with  a 
sob,  reaching  out  vainly  after  her  vanishing  doubt. 

"Proofs !"  he  cried  bitterly.  "Ay.  And  to-morrow  I  can 
give  you  proofs,  assurances  enough.  But  that's  the  world's 
way ;  I  want  your  trust  to-night,  Celia." 

The  dark  figure  was  quite  close  to  them  now,  watching 
them  from  behind  a  gnarled  branch. 

Tim  put  his  hand  on  hers  and  looked  down  at  her  bent 
head. 

"Dearest — to-morrow  I  will  woo  you  soberly,  with  full 
proof  of  my  right  to  do  so.  But  if  you  could  find  it  in  your 
heart  to  give  me  your  whole  trust  to-night — taking  my  sim- 
ple word  against  the  world — the  memory  of  this  hour  would 
be  with  us  through  our  lives,  making  our  love  stronger, 
more  perfect,  knowing  no  more  fears." 

She  gave  a  little  sigh.    "Dreams !  dreams!"  she  whispered. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  AWAKENING    3S5 

"Yes,  dear,  and  'twas  you  who  taught  me  it  takes  courage 
to  dream." 

Bowing  her  head,  she  laid  her  cheek  against  his  hand. 
"No,"  she  whispered,  "this  is  no  dream.  I  have  been  asleep 
this  long  time,  but  this  is  the  awakening.  I  love  you — I 
love  you.  I  give  you  my  trust  forever." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  stooped  to  kiss  her  face. 
A  link-boy  passing  outside  the  grove  flashed  the  light 
through  the  trees.  Tim  looked  up.  He  saw  a  man  stand- 
ing a  few  paces  from  him  with  something  shining  in  his 
uplifted  hand.  With  a  shout  he  pushed  Celia  back  and 
sprang  away  from  her  side.  The  man  leaped  on  him,  stab- 
bing twice  fiercely  at  his  heart.  Tim  sank  to  his  knees  with 
a  muffled  cry. 

An  answering  shot  came  from  the  edge  of  the  grove, 
footsteps  ran  along  the  gravel  path.  The  assassin  turned 
and  slunk  away  through  the  trees,  grasping  in  his  hand 
the  hilt  of  a  broken  dagger. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  MOON   STOOPS 

WHEN  Lord  Robert  and  Marcus  Ormonde  reached  the  spot 
they  found  Tim  kneeling  in  the  centre  of  the  path,  holding 
the  prostrate  figure  of  Celia  in  his  arms.  He  looked  up  at 
them  with  a  dazed  expression. 

"She  has  swooned,"  he  muttered.  "Bring  some  water 
quickly." 

Lord  Robert  turned  and  ran  toward  the  fountain.  Marcus 
put  his  hand  on  Tim's  shoulder. 

"Are  you  wounded,  man  ?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

Tim  shook  off  his  hand.  "Let  me  be,"  he  said  surlily. 
"You  can  take  my  sword,  I'll  not  escape  you,  but  let  me  be 
till  she  is  in  safety." 

Marcus  drew  back  with  a  flushed  face.  Lord  Robert  re- 
turned with  his  hat  full  of  water,  just  as  Tracy  and  Charles 
Rathborne  arrived  on  the  scene. 

Tim  bathed  Celia's  temples,  and  presently  she  opened  her 
eyes  and  looked  round  on  the  group  of  men,  first  with 
amazement,  then  with  a  sudden  fearful  recollection.  Her 
eyes  met  Tracy's.  She  sat  up  and  put  her  hand  on  Tim's 
arm. 

"Tracy,"  she  said  resolutely,  "you  shall  not  harm  Mr. 
Curtis.  He  is  my  betrothed." 

"And  my  friend,  Celia,"  said  Tracy  softly,  "if  he  can  find 
pardon  for  distrust." 

Tim  looked  up.  He  recognised  Charles  Rathborne,  and  a 
look  of  enlightenment  crossed  his  face.  He  held  out  his 
hand  to  Tracy. 


THE  MOON  STOOPS  337 

"You  blind  bat !"  he  said,  with  a  low  laugh.  "But,  Tracy, 
my  dear  fellow — where  the  mischief  are  these  papers  there's 
such  a  pother  about?" 

Tracy's  face  darkened.  "I  would  to  Heaven  I  knew,"  he 
muttered.  "They  must  be  found." 

Celia  rose  to  her  feet;  she  was  white  and  shaken.  Lord 
Robert  looked  across  at  her. 

"Bring  Miss  Winnington  into  my  lodging,"  he  said 
quickly,  "  'tis  convenient,  and  I  will  call  a  coach." 

Tim  put  his  arm  jealously  round  Celia,  but  made  no  ob- 
jection to  the  proposal.  They  followed  Lord  Robert  down 
the  grove. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  walks  they  met  Adelaide  and  Oliver 
Shirley.  The  whole  party  turned  together  into  Lord  Rob- 
ert's house  and  went  up  to  his  library.  There  Adelaide 
drew  Tracy  aside  into  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  eager  to 
make  confession  of  the  betrayal  that  weighed  on  her  con- 
science. 

Timothy  put  Celia  gently  into  a  chair ;  then  he  turned  and 
faced  the  men  with  a  queer  look  in  his  eyes. 

For  a  minute  they  eyed  each  other  in  silence,  their  faces 
flushed  with  embarrassment,  then  Tim  broke  into  a  hearty 
laugh. 

"You  demmed  fools !"  he  said  affectionately. 

He  shook  hands  with  Marcus  and  Oliver,  but  Lord  Robert 
hesitated. 

"I  count  my  actions  justified  under  the  circumstances," 
he  said  resolutely.  "I  would  do  the  same  again  did  his 
Highness's  service  demand  it." 

Tim  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "I  don't  doubt  it, 
Bob,"  he  said  gravely,  "the  Stuart  is  to  be  envied  his  ser- 
vants." 


338 

"Are  you  touched,  Tim?"  asked  Marcus  anxiously,  point- 
ing to  a  crimson  stain  on  the  other's  sleeve. 

"Only  a  scratch  on  the  wrist.  Something  turned  the  dag- 
ger and  broke  the  blade."  As  Tim  spoke  he  put  his  hand 
inside  his  coat  and  from  his  inner  pocket  drew  out  the 
bracelet  Celia  had  given  to  him.  He  held  it  out  to  her 
with  a  smile.  "  'Twas  this  saved  me." 

She  took  it  with  a  little  shudder  and  turned  it  over  to  ex- 
amine it.  The  blade  of  the  dagger  had  twisted  and  broken 
it,  piercing  in  places  the  gold  scroll-work.  Oliver  Shirley 
leaned  over  her  shoulder  and  looked  at  it  curiously. 

"  'Twas  not  the  gold  that  turned  the  blade,"  he  said,  "but 
the  paper  between.  It  is  padded  with  rolls  of  parchment." 

"So  it  is,"  said  Celia  wonderingly.  "I  never  noted  that 
before." 

She  bent  wide  one  of  the  cracks  in  the  gold  and  prised  out 
the  roll  stuffed  inside.  The  men  watched  with  interest 
while  she  unfolded  it  and  spread  out  the  closely  written 
sheets  of  paper. 

Oliver  drew  in  his  breath  suddenly  with  a  sharp,  hissing 
sound.  He  picked  up  one  of  the  papers,  glanced  at  it  and 
passed  it  on  to  Lord  Robert. 

"Bob,"  he  said  sharply,  "do  you  see  what  this  is?" 

Lord  Robert  took  the  paper.  Marcus  leaned  over  his 
shoulder;  they  read  it  together.  Marcus  gave  a  cry  of 
surprise : 

"What  the  mischief!  Tim — these  are  Tracy's  missing 
papers." 

Lord  Robert  looked  up  at  Tim  with  questioning  glance. 

"These  papers  have  been  stolen,"  he  said  significantly; 
"how  did  they  come  into  your  possession,  Curtis?" 

Tim  stared  at  them  in  bewilderment.     "On  my  honour,  I 


THE  MOON  STOOPS  339 

have  not  the  dimmest  understanding  of  the  affair.  Are 
those  the  papers  that  caused  all  the  mischief?" 

"Yes — and  they  are  now  found  in  your  possession,"  said 
Lord  Robert  quietly.  "What's  the  explanation?" 

Tim  made  no  answer.  He  stood  looking  across  at  Celia 
with  a  shadow  of  anxiety  in  his  eyes. 

"Come,  Tim,  explain,"  urged  Marcus  impatiently. 

Celia  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  Tim  with  a  little  smile 
of  confidence.  "Mr.  Curtis  tells  us  he  knows  nothing  of 
the  matter,"  she  said  with  dignity.  "We  can  trust  his 
word." 

A  smile  of  triumph  lighted  his  eyes.  He  threw  back  his 
shoulders  with  a  gesture  of  relief  and  turned  briskly  to 
examine  the  bracelet. 

"It's  demmed  queer,"  he  muttered;  "did  you  know  the 
bracelet  held  aught,  madam?" 

Celia  shook  her  head.  "No.  I  knew  it  was  intended  to 
hold  private  papers.  'Twill  open,  but — "  she  stopped  sud- 
denly, a  look  of  enlightenment  crossed  her  face. 

"Laidie,"  she  cried  sharply,  "come  here." 

Tracy  and  Adelaide  turned  at  her  call.  Adelaide  looked 
from  the  papers  to  the  battered  bracelet,  and  with  a  cry 
fell  on  her  knees  by  Celia's  side. 

"Celie!     Who  gave  you  this?" 

"Rory  did.   Why,  Laidie,  you  know,  you  have  one,  too." 

"But  this  is  mine — mine?" 

"No,  it  is  not,"  answered  Celia  firmly;  "you  are  always 
mistaking  them,  Laidie ;  yours  differs  in  the  chasing.  You 
took  mine  once  before,  but  I  took  it  away  again." 

"You  took  it?    When  was  that?" 

"That  morning  you  slept  so  late,  when  we  were  journey- 
ing here.  You  took  mine  and  wore  it  all  night  seemingly. 


340 

I  was  tetchy  with  you  for  always  mistaking  them,  so  I  took 
it  from  your  arm  without  wakening  you  and  put  back  your 
own  in  place  of  it." 

"You  never  told  me." 

"I  thought  no  more  of  it.  till  this  moment.  I  did 
not  know  you  carried  anything  of  value  inside  it,  least  of 
all  Tracy's  papers.  It  seems  'twas  I  who  robbed  her, 
Tracy." 

"And  I  who  received  the  stolen  goods,"  said  Tim,  with  a 
laugh,  "and  have  carried  them,  unwittingly,  for  two  weeks. 
It  would  seem  I  owe  you  apologies,  gentlemen!" 

Adelaide  rose  to  her  feet  and  turned  to  Timothy,  her  face 
was  very  white.  "Mr.  Curtis — "  she  faltered,  "I— 

Tim  put  out  his  hand  and  stopped  her.  "Madam,"  he 
said  gently,  "we  have  been  the  playthings  of  the  Fates. 
Now  that  the  game  is  ended  let  us  forget  what  antics  they 
forced  us  to  perform." 

Tracy  gathered  up  the  papers  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"Thank  Heaven,  I  have  my  hand  on  them  at  last,"  he  mut- 
tered: "Tim — you'll  keep  a  silent  tongue?" 

"That  I  will.  'Tis  no  concern  of  mine.  And  to  be  honest 
with  you — "  he  added  with  a  laugh,  "I'm  demmed  glad  to 
be  quit  o'  the  affair  with  accident." 

Lord  Robert  laughed,  and  crossing  to  the  fireplace  pulled 
the  bell-rope.  "What  say  you  to  a  trifle  of  supper?"  he 
suggested.  "Come  into  the  inner  room  and  see  what  my 
rascal  can  do  for  us." 

"Supper  by  all  means,"  cried  Tracy.  "I've  ridden  twelve 
miles  since  I  dined." 

He  took  Adelaide's  arm  and  with  a  significant  glance 
from  Tim  to  Celia  led  the  way  from  the  room.  The  other 
men  looked  across  at  Tim  with  a  nod  and  smile  and  followed 


THE  MOON  STOOPS  341 

suit  pell-mell,  leaving  him  alone  with  Celia.  It  was  their 
atonement  not  to  begrudge  his  happiness. 

The  door  closed  very  gently.  Tim  turned  and  looked  at 
Celia  with  the  joy  of  anticipation  shining  in  his  eyes. 

She  sat  with  sweetly  blushing  face  and  eyes  demurely 
lowered  to  the  clasped  white  hands,  pink-tipped  like  apple 
blossoms ;  the  shadow  of  a  mile  played  round  the  rosy  curve 
of  her  lips. 

Timothy  crossed  to  her  side. 

"Mistress  Celia,"  he  said  with  a  plaintive  sigh,  "I  have 
vowed  to  you  that  I  will  only  wed  where  I  can  love.  Must  I 
then  live  a  bachelor  all  my  days  ?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  There  was  utter  trust  in  her 
look,  and  the  deep  mystery  of  joy,  and  a  little  homely 
laughter  to  hold  her  down  to  earth. 

"In  truth,  Mr.  Curtis,"  she  said  demurely,  "I  have  ever 
heard  that  the  estate  of  bachelorhood  is  blessed  with  a  holy 
freedom  from  cares." 

Timothy  knelt  beside  her  and  looked  up  into  her  face ;  his 
voice  was  deep  with  tenderness. 

"Alack !"  he  sighed,  "the  moon  is  so  cold,  so  still,  so  dis- 
tant. How  may  a  man  dare  to  reach  up  to  the  far  heavens 
and  steal  her  glories?" 

The  crimson  deepened  on  her  cheek,  the  smile  brightened 
in  her  eyes ;  but  she  made  no  answer. 

Timothy  drew  nearer.  His  eyes  glowed  with  an  eager  light 
as  he  watched  her  face. 

"Celia,"  he  whispered,  softly,  "if  the  moon  were  to 
stoop — " 

He  paused,  expectant.  With  a  soft  laugh  of  happiness, 
Celia  placed  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and,  stooping,  kissed 
his  lips. 


342  THE  FAIR  MOON  OF  BATH 

A  sudden  burst  of  sound  came  from  the  inner  room,  laugh- 
ter and  the  clinking  of  glasses.  Marcus  Ormonde's  voice 
rose  clear  above  the  hubbub : 

"Gentlemen — a  toast — a  toast — "Long  Life  to  the  Moon 
of  Bath  and  good  speed  to  Endymion  Curtis." 

THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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